


Taking Risks

by badskin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, alternate universe - outlaw queen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskin/pseuds/badskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Robin and Regina met in the bar, both have no strings attached and set in modern times? This was the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For as long as Robin Locksley could remember, Friday nights had belonged to his best friend and his cousin.  
  
They'd started setting those evenings aside way back in high school. Nobody had made a formal announcement. Nobody had said, "Hey how about we make Friday evenings ours?"  
  
It had just happened, was all, and over the ensuing years, it had become an unspoken tradition.  
  
Robin, Arthur and David got together in Fridays, no matter what.  
  
Always.  
  
Okay.  
  
Maybe not always.  
  
One of them might be away on business, David on one coast or the other, dealing with a client in some complicated case of corporate law; Arthur in South America or Spain, buying horses for his own ranch or for El Lago, the family spread; Robin meeting with investors anywhere from San Francisco to Singapore.  
  
And there had been times one or more, that either one of them had been ass-deep in some bug-infested foreign hellhole, trying to stay alive in whatever war needed the best combat helicopter pilot, secret agency spook, or jet jockey the U.S of A. could provide.  
  
There had even been times a woman got in the way.  
  
Robin lifted a bottle of beer to his lips.  
  
That didn't happen often.  
  
Women were wonderful and mysterious creatures, but his closest friends, his brothers not by blood but most definitely through thick and thin, were, well, they were brothers. You shared same experiences from childhood and had almost the same memories.  
  
That made for something special.  
  
The bottom line that was that barring the end of the world and the appearance of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, if it was Friday night, if they were within reasonable distance of each other, they'd find a bar where the brews were cold, the steaks rare, the music an upbeat blend of Rolling Stones and Bruce Springsteen, and they'd settle in for a couple of hours of relaxation.  
  
This place didn't quite meet that description.  
  
It wasn't where they planned on going tonight, but then, as it had turned out, Robin was the only one who'd been up for getting together at all.  
  
  
The original plan had been to meet at a bar they knew and liked, maybe half a dozen blocks from his office, a quiet place with deep booths, good music on the speakers, half a dozen varieties if locally brewed beer on tap and by the bottle, and steaks the size of Texas sizzling in an open grill.  
  
That plan had changed, and Robin had ended up in here by accident.  
  
  
Once he knew he would be on his own, he'd driven around for a while, finally got thirsty and hungry, stopped at the first place he saw.  
  
This one.  
  
No deep booths, no Stones or Bruce. No locally-brewed beer. No grill, and no steaks.  
  
Instead, there were half a dozen beat-up looking tables and chairs. The kind of music that made your brain go numb, blasting from the speakers, A couple of brands of beer. Burgers oozing grease, served up from a kitchen in the back.  
  
The best thing about the place was the bar itself, a long stretch of zinc that either spoke of earlier, better days or of dreams that had never quite materialized.  
  
Robin had pretty much known what he'd find as soon as he pulled into the parking lot, he saw dented Range Rovers with half a dozen Harleys parked together like a pack of coyotes.  
  
He'd also known what he wouldn't find.  
  
Friendly faces. Babes that looked as if they'd just stepped out of the latest Forever 21 catalogue. A dartboard on the wall, photos of local sports guys on another. Anchor Steam beer and rare steaks.  
  
Not a great place for a stranger who was alone but if a man knew how to keep to himself, which years spent on no-always-friendly foreign soil had definitely taught him to do, he could at least grab something to eat before heading home.  
  
He'd gotten some looks when he walked through the door. That figured. He was an unknown in a place where people almost certainly knew each other or at least recognized each other.  
  
Physically at least, he blended in.  
  
He was not too tall, at least 5'9 in his bare feet, lean and muscled, the result of years riding and breaking horses growing up on El Lago, the family's half-million acre ranch, 15 miles west of Oxford in England. Playing soccer since he can start to walk until he is in college, had honed him to a tough and resistant edge, and Air Force training done the rest.  
  
At twenty-eight, he worked out every morning the gym in the gym in his condo, one street away from his office in Financial District, and he still rode most weekends, played soccer with his friends...  
  
  
Correction, he thought glumly.  
  
He used to play soccer with David and Arthur, but they didn't have much time for that anymore.  
  
Which was one of the reasons he was in this bar tonight. His best friend and cousin didn't have much time for anything anymore and damn it all, no, he wasn't feeling sorry for himself--he was a grown man after all.  
  
What he was mourning, was mourning for the loss of a way of life.  
  
Robin tilted the bottle of Budweiser to his lips, took a long swallow and stared at his reflection in the fly-specked mirror behind the bar.  
  
Bachelorhood. Freedom. No responsibility to anyone but yourself.  
  
Yes, his best friend and cousin were giving life on the other side of that line a try and God knew, he wished them all the best but, though he'd never say it to them, he had a bad feeling how that would end up.  
  
Love was an ephemeral emotion. Here today, gone tomorrow. Lip service, at best.  
  
  
How his friend and cousin had missed that life-lesson was beyond him.  
  
He at least, had not.  
  
Which had brought him back what had been the old Friday night routine of steaks, beer...  
  
And the one kind of bond you could count on.  
  
  
Bond between brothers.  
  
He'd experienced growing up with David and Arthur at college when he went in America to study following his cousin, when he played soccer, in the Air Force. First, in weeks of grueling training, then in that small, elite circle of men who flew fighter jets.  
  
Male bonding, was the trendy media term for it, but you didn't need fancy words to describe the link of trust you could forge with a brother-whether by blood or by fate.  
  
That was what Friday nights had been about.  
  
Sitting around, talking about nothing in particular-the standing of Manchester United, or how Arsenal F.C. is doing. Poker, a game they all liked and at which Robin was an expert. Which was more of an icon, David's vintage Thunderbird, or Robin's 1974 Stingray Corvette, and was they any reasonable explanation for Arthur driving that disgustingly new Lamborghini?  
  
And, naturally, they'd talked about women.  
  
Except, they didn't talk about women anymore.  
  
Robin sighed, raised the bottle again, and drank.  
  
David and Arthur.  
  
Married.  
  
He'd spoken with each of them as recently as yesterday, reminded them--and when, in the past, had they needed reminding? Friday was coming up and they'd be meeting at seven at that bear near his office.  
  
_"Absolutely," David had said._  
  
_"See you then," Arthur had told him._  
  
_And here he was. The Lone Ranger._  
  
_The worst of it was, he wasn't really surprised._  
  
_No reflection of their wives, Mary Margaret and Guinevere is charming as can be, but why deny it?_  
  
_Marriage, commitment-changed everything._  
  
_"I can't make it tonight, Robin," David had said when he'd phoned in mid-afternoon. "We have Lamaze."_  
  
_"Who?"_  
  
_"It's not a who, its a what. Lamaze, you know. Childbirth class. It's usually  on Thursday but the instructor had to cancel so it's tonight instead."_  
  
_"Robin?" David had said. "You there?"_  
  
_"I'm here," he'd said briskly. "Lamaze. Right. Well have fun."_  
  
_"Lamaze isn't about fun, dude."_  
  
_"I bet."_  
  
_"You'll find out someday."_  
  
_"Bite your tongue."_  
  
_David had laughed. "Remember that housekeeper you had when you were younger? The one who used to say, first comes love, then comes marriage..."_  
  
Thinking back to the conversation, Robin shuddered.  
  
Why would any of that ever apply to him?  
  
Even if the big "if"--even if the marriage worked, it changed a man.  
  
Besides, love was just a nice word for sex, and why be modest?  
  
He already had all the sex a man could handle, without any of the accompanying complications.  
  
No "I love you and I'll wait for you," which turned out to mean "I'll wait a couple of months before I get into bed with somebody else."  
  
Been there, done that, when he decided to study in USA, Marian said she'll wait for him, but when he came back the next summer, she is with another man.  
  
  
Truth was, once he'd moved past the anger, it hadn't meant much. He'd been young; love had been an illusion.  
  
And he should have known better, anyway, growing up in a home where your mother got sick and died and your father was too busy saving the world to come home with his son...  
  
And damn it, what was with his mood tonight?  
  
Robin looked up, caught the bartender's eye and signaled for another beer.  
  
The guy nodded. "Comin' up."  
  
David's phone call had been followed on the heels of Arthur's.  
  
_"Hey," he'd said._  
  
_"Hey," Robin had replied, which didn't so much mark him as a master of brilliant dialogue as it suggested he knew what was coming._  
  
_"So," Arthur had said, clearing his throat, "about getting together tonight-"_  
  
_"You can't make it."_  
  
_"Yes. I mean, no. I can't"_  
  
_"Because?"_  
  
_"Well, it turns out Gwen made an appointment for us to meet with-with this bloke."_  
  
_"What bloke?"_  
  
_"Just a bloke. About the work we've been doing, you know remodeling the house."_  
  
_"I thought that was your department. The extension, the extra bathrooms, the new kitchen-"_  
  
_"It is. This bloke does-he does other stuff."_  
  
_"Such as ?"_  
  
_"For pete's sake, don't you ever give up? Such as recommending things."_  
  
_"Things?"_  
  
_"Wallpaper," Arthur had all but snarled. "Okay? this bloke's bringing over ten million wallpaper samples and Gwen told me about it days ago but I forgot and it's too late to-"_  
  
_"Yeah. Okay. No problem." Robin had said because what right did he have to rhis war-hero cousin more than he'd already embarrassed himself?_  
  
_"Next week," Arthur had said. "Right?"_  
  
Right, Robin had thought, oh, yeah, right.  
  
By next week, David would be enrolled in Baby Burping 101 and Arthur would be staring at fabric swatches, or whatever you called squares of cotton or velvet.  
  
Domesticity was right up there with Lamaze.  
  
Nothing he wanted to try.  
  
Not ever.  
  
He liked his life just the way it was, thank you very much.  
  
There was a big world out there, and he's seen most of it-but not at all. He still had places to go, things to do...  
  
Things that might get the taste of war and death out of his mouth.  
  
People talked about cleansing your palette between wine tastings but nobody talked about cleansing your soul after piloting a jet into combat missions...  
  
And damn, what the hell is he really doing?  
  
A flea-bitten bar in the wrong part of the city absolutely was not the place for foolish indulgence in cheap philosophy.  
  
Robin finished his beer.  
  
Without being asked, the bartender opened a bottle, put it in front of him.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Haven't seen you in here before."  
  
Robin shrugged. "First time for everything."  
  
"You want something to eat before the kitchen closes?"  
  
"Sure. A steak, medium-rare."  
  
"Your money, but the burgers are better."  
  
"Fine. A burger. Medium-rare."  
  
"Fries with it?"  
  
"Fries are fine."  
  
"Coming right up."  
  
Robin tilted the bottle to his lips.  
  
A couple of weeks ago, David and Arthur had asked him what was doing with him. Was he feeling a little off lately?  
  
"You're the ones who are off," he'd said with a quick smile. "Married. Living by the rules."  
  
"Sometimes, rules are what a man needs," David had said.  
  
"Yeah," Arthur added. "You know, it might be time to reassess your life."  
  
Reassess his life?  
  
He liked his life just fine, thank you very much.  
  
He needed precisely what he had. Life in the fast lane. Work hard, play hard.  
  
Nothing wrong with that.  
  
It was how he'd always been.  
  
Them too, although war had changed them. David had, still was battling though PTSD. Arthur carried a wariness inside him that would never go away.  
  
Not him.  
  
Sure, there were times he woke up, heart pounding, remembering stuff a man didn't want to remember, but a day at his office, taking a chance on a new stock offering and clearing millions as a result, a night in bed with a new, spectacular woman who was uninterested in settling down as he was, and he was fine again.  
  
Maybe that was the problem.  
  
  
There hadn't been a woman lately.  
  
And, now that he thought about it, what was with that? He wasn't into celibacy anymore then he was into domesticity yet, it had been days, hell, weeks since he'd been with a woman...  
  
"Burger, medium-rare with fries," the bartender had said, sliding a huge plate across the bar.  
  
Robin looked at the burger. It was the size of a Frisbee turned into a crisp.  
  
Good thing he wasn't really hungry, he thought and he picked up a fry and took a bite.  
  
The place was crowding up. Almost all the stools were taken at the bar; same for the tables. The clientele, if you could call it, was mostly male. Big, tough-looking. Lots of facial hair. Lots of tattoos.  
  
Some of them looked him over.  
  
Robin did not hesitate to look back.  
  
He'd been in enough places like this one, not just here in San Francisco but in some nasty spots back home in Eastern Europe and Asia, to know that you never flinched from eye contact.  
  
It worked.  
  
Aside from his height and build, which had come to him courtesy of his Irish, English ancestors, it helped that he'd given up his day-at-the office custom made Armani suit for a well-worn gray T-shirt, equally well-worn jeans a pair of Timberland boots he'd had for years but then, why would any guy wear a suit and everything that went with it when he could be comfortable in jeans?  
  
The clothes, the boots, his physical build, his deep blond hair, and dark blue eyes all combined to make him look like, well, like what he was, a guy who wouldn't look for trouble but damned well wouldn't back away from it if it came his way.  
  
"A gorgeous, sexy, bad boy," one mistress had called him.  
  
It had embarrassed the hell out of him-at least that was what he'd claimed-but hey, could a man fight his DNA?  
  
The blood of generations of warriors pulsed in his veins. His father, a General had raised him on tales of valor and courage and in situations where it was necessary, the usefulness of an attitude that said don't-screw-with-me if you're smart.  
  
It was a message men understood and generally respected, though there was almost always some jerk who though it didn't apply to him.  
  
That was fine.  
  
It was equally fine that women understood it, too, and reacted to it in ways that meant he rarely spent a night alone, except by choice...  
  
"Hi, honey."  
  
Last time he'd checked, the bar stool to his left had been empty. Not anymore. A blonde was perched on it, smiling as if she'd just found an unexpected gift under a Christmas tree.  
  
Uh-oh.  
  
She was surely a gift too. For someone.  
  
  
That someone wasn't him.  
  
To put it kindly, she wasn't his type.  
  
Big hair that looked like it was shellacked into submission. Makeup she probably had to remove with a trowel. Tight cotton T-shirt, her boobs resting on a muffin-top of flesh forced by too-tight jeans.  
  
All that was bad enough.  
  
What made it worse is the unspoken etiquette in a place like this.  
  
A lady made a move on you, you were supposed to be flattered, otherwise you risked offending her.  
  
Her, and the neighborhood jockey's who'd suddenly shifted their attention his way.  
  
"Hello," he said with forced politeness, and then gave all attention to his plate.  
  
"You're new here, or are you new to town?"  
  
Robin took a bite of his hamburger, chewed it as of chewing were the most important thing in his life.  
  
"I'm Bev."  
  
He nodded. Kept chewing.  
  
She leaned in close, wedged one of her 4o Double D's against his arm.  
  
"You got a name, hottie?"  
  
Now what? This was not a good situation. Whatever he did, short of taking Bev's clear invitation to heart, would almost surely lead to trouble.  
  
She'd be insulted, her pals would think they had to ride to the rescue...  
  
Maybe honesty, polite and up-front was the best policy.  
  
Robin took a paper napkin from its metal holder, blotted his lips and turned toward her.  
  
"Listen, Bev," he said not unkindly, "I'm not interested." her face reddened and he thought, Hell, I'm not doing this right.  
  
"I mean, you're a good looking woman, but I'm-I'm meeting somebody."  
  
"Really?" she said coldly. "You want me to believe you're waiting for your date?"  
  
"Exactly. She'll be here any--"  
  
"You're waiting for your date but you're eating without her?"  
  
The guy on the other side of Bev was leaning toward them.  
  
He was the size of a small mountain and from the look in his tiny eyes, he was hot and ready for a Friday night fight.  
  
Slowly, carefully, Robin put down the burger and the napkin.  
  
The mountain outweighed him by fifty pounds, easy and the hand wrapped around the bottle he was holding was the size of a man.  
  
No problem. Robin had taken on bigger men and come though just fine.  
  
Yes, but the Mountain has friends here. Many. And you, pal, are all by your lonesome.  
  
The Voice of Reason.  
  
Despite what was sometimes said about him, Robin had been known not just to hear that voice but to listen to it.  
  
But Bev was going on and on about no-good scumbag liars and diatribe had drawn attention of several of this Mountain's pals. Every last one of them looked happy to come to her aid by performing an act of chivalry that would surely involve beating the outsider-him-into a bloody mass of barely-breathing flesh.  
  
Not good, said the Voice of Reason.  
  
The bloody part was okay. He'd been there before.  
  
But there was a problem.  
  
He had a meeting in Frankfurt, Monday morning, a huge deal he'd been working on for months, and he had the noted, very surprising feeling that the board of directors at the ultraconservative, three hundred year old firm of Bernhartd, Bernhardt and Schultz would not look kindly on a financial expert who showed up with a couple of black eyes, a dinged jaw or a broken nose, for all he knew, one or two missing teeth.  
  
It would not impress them at all of he explained that he'd done his fair share of damage. More than his fair share, because he surely would not manage that.  
  
"The lady's talking to you." The Mountain was leaning past Bev. God his breath stank.  
  
"What's the matter? You got a hearing problem, pretty boy?"  
  
Conversation died out. People smiled.  
  
Robin felt the first, heady pump of adrenaline.  
  
"My name," he said carefully, "is not 'pretty boy."  
  
"His name is not pretty boy," the Mountain mimicked him and his accent.  
  
Bev, sporting a delighted smile, slid from her stool. Maybe he misjudged her purpose. Maybe setting up a fight had been her real job.  
  
Either way, Robin saw his choices narrowing down, and rapidly.  
  
Her defender got to his feet.  
  
"You're making a mistake," Robin said quietly.  
  
The bigger guy snorted.  
  
Robin nodded, took a last swig of beer, said a mental "goodbye" to Monday's meeting, and stood up.  
  
"Outside," he said, "in the parking lot, or right here?"  
  
"Here," a voice growled.  
  
Three men had joined the Mountain. Robin smiled. In the next five minutes might be the end of him.  
  
Yeah, but they'd also be fun, especially considering his weird state of mind tonight.  
  
"Fine," he said. "Sounds good to me."  
  
Those words, the commitment to the inevitable, finalized things, send his adrenaline not just pumping but racing. He hadn't been in a down and dirty bar brawl in a very lone time. Not since Bangkok or Kandahar.  
  
Yes, Kandahar. His last mission, death all around him...  
  
Suddenly, pounding this bigger guy into pulp seemed a fine idea, never mind that deal in Frankfurt.  
  
Besides, nothing short of a miracle could save him now...  
  
The door to the street swung open.  
  
For some reason Robin would never later be able to explain, the enraptured audience watching him and the Mountain turned toward it.  
  
A blast of hot summer San Francisco air swept in.  
  
So did a tall, beautiful, sexy-looking, straight out of the Forever 21 brunette model.  
  
Silence. Complete silence.  
  
Everybody looked at the brunette.  
  
And blanched.  
  
"Well, lookee there," somebody said.  
  
Look at that, indeed. Robin thought.  
  
Sanity returned.  
  
There she was. His salvation.  
  
"Finally," he said, his tone bright and cheerful. "My date."  
  
Before anyone could say a word, he started toward the brunette and the door with a confidence of a man holding all four aces in a game of high stakes poker.  
  
She tilted her head back as he got closer. She was tall, especially in sexy, nosebleed-high stilettos, but she still had to look up at him.  
  
He liked it. It was a nice touch.  
  
"Your what?" she said, or would have said, but he could not afford to let things go that far.  
  
"My lady," he purred, "what took you so long?"  
  
Her eyes widened.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Robin grinned.  
  
"Only if you ask real nice," he said, and before she could react, he drew her into his arms, brought her tightly against him and covered her mouth with his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I used Renée which is a french feminine name as Regina's alter-ego which means reborn or born again. 
> 
> Anyway, no beta, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Again, comments, criticisms and reactions are very much welcome! :)

An hour before she walked into Robin Locksley's life, Regina Mills had been sitting in her black, ancient 560SL Mercedes, having a stern talk with herself.

By then, it had been close to nine o'clock, the evening wasn't getting any younger, and she still hadn't put her plan into work.

Ridiculous, of course.

She was a woman with a mission.

She was looking for a bar.

Really, how difficult could it be to find a bar in a city like San Francisco?

Very.

Well, "very" if you were searching for just the right kind of bar.

  
San Francisco, was a big, sprawling, bustling city and she'd driven through many parts of it that she'd lost count.

She'd started with Richmond and though there were loads of bars in that area, it would have been foolish, better still, foolhardy to choose one of them.

It was too near the University Campus.

So, she'd headed for Bayview, mostly because she knew it, if watching a couple of operas in Bayview Opera House on some weekends qualified as "knowing" a place--after nine months, she was still learning about her new city-but as soon as she got there, she's realized too, it was a bad choice.

Bayview was trendy, which meant she'd feel out of place. A laugh, really, considering that she was going to feel out of place no matter where she went tonight, but it was also a neighborhood that surely would be popular with the university students.

Running into someone who knows her would be a disaster.

That was when Regina had pulled into the curb, put her Mercedes in neutral and told herself to think fast, before her plan fell apart.

What other parts of San Fran were there?

Downtown.

She knew it by reputation, and it that it was home to lots of young, successful, rich professionals. Of course, it was the counterpart of New York of the West.

Well, she'd thought with what might have been a choked laugh, she was young, anyway.

Rich? Not on a teaching assistant's stipend. Successful? Not in FiDi's term, where the word surely referred to attorneys and doctors, financial gurus and industrialists.

What kind of small talk could she make with a man who was all those things, assuming such a man would look twice at her?

The realization sent a bolt of terror zinging along her nerve endings.

Regina fought against it.

She wasn't scared. Certainly not.

She was--she was anxious, and who wouldn't be? She'd spent weeks and weeks planning this--this event.

She wasn't going to add anxiety by going to a bar in a place Downtown on a Friday night when--when singles mingled.

 _When singles hook up, Renée baby,_ her always-until-now-oh-so-logical alter ego had suddenly whispered.

"They mingle," Regina had muttered. "And my name is not--"

Except it was. For tonight. She'd decided the same time she'd hatched this plan.

_Good. You remembered. You're Renée. And you're trying to pretty things up. Tonight is not about mingling, it is about--_

Regina had stopped listening. Still there was a truth to it. Nobody could pretty this up. Her plan was basic.

Find a bar, go inside, order a drink, find a man she liked, flirt with him...

_Forget the metaphors._

What she wanted was to find a man she liked enough to take home to bed.

Her teeth chattered.

"Stop it," she said sharply.

She was a grown woman, Twenty-four years old. That she had never slept with a man was disgraceful. Daniel was taken away from her too soon. Her first love, her childhood sweetheart. She was scared to love again, or too busy to pursue her career to even date or look for love, and she hasn't found any yet who made her heart beat like a drum like she used to with Daniel, but time wasn't on her side, which was why she was going to remedy that failing tonight.

She had thought about this for a long time, examined the concept from every possible angle.

This was right. It was logical, it was appropriate.

It was how things had to be done.

No romance. This wasn't about romance.

No attachment. That part wasn't even worth analyzing.

She didn't have time for attachment, or emotion, or love. She is over that. This is if anything, for the experience.

That was what this was all about.

It was research. It was learning something you'd only read about.

It was no different from what she'd done in the past, driving from Maine to New York before she wrote her senior paper so that she could experience what had once been the narrows streets where Stanton Coit had established a settlement housing for immigrants long before there were such things as social workers, or the trip she'd planned to see the Jane Addams Hull-House Museum in Chicago...

Her throat constricted.

Never mind all of that.

Her days of academic research would soon be meaningless.

What she needed now was reality research, and if there wasn't such a branch of study, there should be.

And she was wasting precious time.

Regina checked both rear view mirrors, put on her signal light and pulled away from the curb.

After a while, the streets began to change.

They grew wider. The buildings grew larger, crammed together as if huddled against a starless, San Francisco night.

The one good thing was there were lots of bars. Lots and lots of bars.

She drove past them all, of course she did.

None passed muster.

One didn't have enough vehicles parked outside. One had too many. One had all the wrong kind.

Regina's alter-ego gave an impolite snort. Regina couldn't blame her. That made her three out of three.

What was she, Goldilocks?

Okay. The very next bar would be The One. In caps. Definitely, THE ONE.

She'd park, check her hair, her makeup-she'd never used this much makeup before.

THE TAVERN.

Her heart thumped.

There it was, straight ahead. A bar called The Tavern.

She slowed the car, turned on her signal light, checked the mirrors, waited patiently for an approaching vehicle a block away to pass before she pulled into a parking lot.

It was crowded.

The last available empty slot was between a shiny black behemoth of a Range Rover and a battered Dodge Caravan.

She pulled between them, opened her door, checked the faded white lines, saw that she hadn't managed to center her car, shut the door, backed up carefully, shifted, pulled forward, checked one last time, saw she'd finally parked properly and shut off the engine.

 _Tick, tick tick_ it said, and finally went silent.

Too silent. She could hear her heart thudding.

_Stop it!_

Quickly, she opened her consignment-shop Dior purse, rummaged inside it, found her compact and flipped it open.

She'd spent twenty minutes this afternoon at Mac, nervously wandering around among the endless cosmetic counters before she'd finally chosen one mostly because the clerk behind it looked a shade less unapproachable than the others.

_"How may I help you, miss?" she'd said. "Foundation? Blusher? Eyebrows? Eyes? Lips?"_

_Translation: Sweetie, you need work!_

_But her smile had been pleasant, and Regina had taken a deep breath and said, "Do you do makeovers?"_

_Almost an hour later, the clerk-she was, she'd said a cosmetician-put a big mirror in her hands and said, "Take a look."_

_Who was this person with the loose, dark waves framing her face? When did her lashes become curly and dark? And that pouting, pink mouth, those cheekbones..._

_Cheekbones?_

_"Wow," she'd said softly._

_The cosmetician had grinned._

_"Wow, indeed, Your man is gonna melt when he sees you tonight."_

_"No. I mean, that's just the point. I don't have-"_

_"So,"  the cosmetician had chirped, "What do we want to purchase?"_

_"Purchase?" Regina had said, staring at the line up of vials, bottles and tubes, the sprays, salves and brushes, even an instruction sheet about how to replicate the magic transformation. Her gaze had flown to the woman._

_"I can't possibly.." she'd swallowed hard, pointed to the tube of forty-dollar mascara and said, "I'll take that."  
_

Nobody was happy. Not the cosmetics fairy. Not Regina, whose last mascara purchase had cost her six bucks at the supermarket.

Had all this time and money be worth it?

It was time to find out. Even in the badly lit parking lot, her mirror assured her she looked different. It also assured her that she was wearing a mask.

Well, a disguise. Which was good.

It made her feel as if she was really reborn again.

Regina snapped the compact shut and put it back in her purse.

Which was why she was parked outside this place.

Upscale? Not really. The lot said so. Most of the Range Rovers aren't that new, and there were motorcycles too.

Weren't motorcycles supposed to be sexy?

And there were lighted beer signs on the window.

Downscale? Well, as compared to what? True, something about the place didn't seem appealing.

 _It's a bar,_ the dry voice inside her muttered. _What are you, a scout for Better Homes and Gardens?_

Still, was this a good choice? She'd worked up a logical criteria.

A: Choose a place that drew singles. She knew what happened in singles bars. Well, she'd heard what happens-that they were people who goes for uninhibited fun, drinking, dancing...and other things.

B: Do what she was going to do before spring turns to autumn.

C: Actually, it had not occurred to her there might be last choice.

Do not prevaricate.

She put away her compact. Opened the door, stepped from the car, shut the door, locked it, opened her purse, put her keys inside, closed her purse, hung the thin strap over the shoulder of her equally thin-strapped emerald-green silk dress bought from Forever 21.

Assuming you could call something that stopped at mid-tigh a dress.

She knew it was.

Girls on campus wore dresses this length.

_You're not a girl on campus, Regina. And even when you were, back in Maine, you never wore anything that looked like this._

And maybe if she had, she wouldn't be doing this tonight. She wouldn't have to be looking for answers to questions that needed answers she never had a chance to find out from before, questions she was running out of time to ask...

"Stop," she whispered.

It was time to get moving.

She took a breath, then started walking toward the entrance to the bar, stumbling a little in the sky-high heels she'd also bought at the same shop.

She was properly turned out, from head to toe, to lure the kind of man she wanted into her bed. Somebody not too tall, broad-shouldered. A buff, but not too much body. Blue eyes, blond or dark haired wouldn't matter, a gorgeous face, because if you were going to lose your virginity to a stranger, if this was going to be your One and Only sexual experience, Regina thought as she put her hand on the door to the bar and pushed it open, if this was going to be It, you wanted the man to be...

Was that music?

It was loud. Very loud. What was it? She had no idea. Telling Tchaikovsky to Mozart was one thing. Telling rock music from rock was another.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

Maybe she was making a mistake.

Yes the place was not too near the university. She wouldn't see anyone she knew, or anyone who knows her, but what about the rest? Was it a singles bar? Or was it-what did people call them? A Tavern? Literally, like the name itself? A neighborhood place where people came to drink?

It was an unimpressive building, that sign, even the asphalt because now that she'd seen it, close-up, it was cracked...

_That's enough!_

She'd talked herself out of dozen other possibilities. She was not talking herself out of this one.

Chin up, back straight-okay, one last hand smoothing her hair, one last tug at her dress and she really should have chosen one that covered her thighs...

Regina reached for the door, yanked it open...

And stepped into a sensory explosion.

The music pulsed off the walls, vibrated through the floor. The smell was awful. Yeasty, kind of like rising bread dough, but not pleasant, and under it, the smell of things frying in grease.

And the noise! People shouting over the music. What sounded like hundreds of them. Not really; there weren't hundreds of people at the long bar, at the handful of tables, but there were lots of them, mostly male.

Some were wearing leather and jockey shirts.

Maybe she'd made a mistake. Wandered into a gay...

No. These guys weren't gay. They were-unattractive. Lots of facial hair, lots of tattoos. Lots of big bellies overhanging jeans.

There were few women, but that didn't help. The women were-big. Big hair, big boobs...

People were looking at her.

_Indeed they are Renée. That's what people do, when a woman all dressed up walks into a place like this._

Oh God, even her alter-ego thought she'd made a mistake.

Her heart leaped into her throat. She wanted to turn around, but it was too late.

A man was walking toward her.

Not walking, sauntering, was more accurate, his long stride, slow and easy, more than a match for his lazy smile.

Her breath caught.

His eyes were dark but as he came nearer, she saw it was an ocean of blue. His hair the color of dark blond. It was thick, brushed up, and she had the swift, almost overwhelming desire to bur her hands in it.

He looked muscled underneath the shirt, his pectorals, bulging.

You could almost sense the hard delineation of muscle in his wide shoulders and arms and chest-and she was almost certain he could have-what do you call it? A six-pack, that was it. A six-pack right there, in his middle.

A middle that led down to-down to his lower middle.

To more muscle, a different kind of muscle, hidden beneath faded denim.

Her cheeks burned.

Her gaze flew up again, over what, all five feet nine of him. Flew up over worn boots, a T-shirt that clung to his torso.

Their eyes met.

Tall as she was, especially in the stilettos, she still had to look up for that to happen.

He smiled. Dimples etched deep.

Her mouth went dry. He was, in a word, gorgeous.

"Milady," he said in a husky voice. "What took you so long?"

_Huh?_

Nobody knew she was coming in her tonight. She had not even known herself, until she'd pulled into the parking lot.

"Excuse me?"

His smile became a grin. Could grins be sexy and hot? And there goes those dimples again. Oh yes, yes they could.

"Only if you ask real nice," he said, and then, without any warning, she was in his arms, and his mouth was on hers. She felt his lips, soft and pliant against hers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I updated faster than I intended to, basically because the next week will be another whirlwind of busy days for me. So this is long and somewhat there's a surprise, and then some :) Again, no beta so all mistakes are mine.

Robin liked women.

In bed, of course. Sex was one of life's great pleasures. But he liked them in other ways too.

Their scent. Their softness. Those Mona Lisa smiles that could keep a man guessing for hours, even days.

And all the things that were part of sex.

He could never have enough of those.

He knew from years of locker-room talk, that some men saw kissing as nothing but a distraction from the main-event.

Not him.

Kissing was something that deserved plenty of time. He loved exploring a woman's taste, the silken texture of their lips, the feel of them as they parted to demand of his.

Women liked it, too.

Enough of them had mingled their sighs with his, melted in his arms, parted their lips to the silken thrust of his tongue to convince him--why not be honest? that he was a man skilled at the act.

Tonight, none of that mattered.

The brunette was attractive--the ruse wouldn't work if she weren't--but there was nothing personal involved.

Kissing her was a means to an end, a way to get him out of a confrontation in a San Fran dive to a boardroom in Frankfurt without looking as if he'd gone ten rounds in a bar exactly like this one.

The key to success? He'd known he'd have to move fast, take her by surprise, kiss her hard enough to silence any protest.

With luck, she'd go along with the game.

Far more exotic things happened in bars everywhere than a man stealing a kiss.

Besides, a woman who looked like this, who walked into a place like this, wasn't naive.

For all he knew, she was out slumming.

A kiss from a stranger might just be the turn-on she wanted.

And if she protested, he'd play to his audience, pretend it was all about her being ticked off at him for some imagined lover's slight.

Either way, he wasn't going to give her, or them, a lot of time to think about it.

He'd kiss her, then hustle her outside where he could explain it all had been a game and either thank her for her cooperation or apologize for what he'd done...or maybe, just maybe she'd laugh and what the hell, the night was still young.

Bottom line?

Kissing her was all he had to work with, so he flashed his best smile, the one that never failed to thaw a woman's defenses, reached out, put his arms around her, gathered her in...

Her eyes widened. She slapped both hands against his chest.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Robin showed her.

He captured her lips with this.

For nothing longer than a second, he thought he was home free. Sure, she stiffened against him, said "Mmmff" or something close to it, but he could work with that.

The problem?

She went crazy in his arms.

It would have done his ego some boost to think she'd gone crazy with pleasure.

The brunette in his arms jerked against him. Pounded his shoulders with her fist. Said that "Mmmff" thing again and again...

Somebody laughed.

Somebody said, "What the hell is he doing?"

Somebody else said, "Damned if I know."

What Robin knew, was this was not good.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," he snarled, his mouth a breath from hers.

"Mmmff!"

She struggled harder. Lifted her foot. Put one of those stiletto heels into his instep and it was a damned good thing he was wearing boots.

He put his lips to her ear.

"My lady. Listen to what I'm saying. I'm not--"

Big mistake.

"Help," she yelled--he could see her lips forming the sound of that 'h' - so really, what choice did he have?

He kissed her again.

This time, her knee came up.

He felt it coming, twisted to avoid it, then hung on to her for dear life.

The crowd hooted.

Jeez, was he going to be the night's entertainment?

"Lady sure seem to be happy to see you, pretty boy," the Mountain shouted.

Everybody roared with laughter.

Okay.

This called for a different approach.

Robin thrust one hand into her hair, clamped the other base at his spine, tilted her backward over his arm just enough to keep her off balance and brushed his lips over hers.

Once. Twice. Three times, each time ignoring that angry _Mmmff._

"Don't fight me," he whispered between kisses. "Just make this look real and I swear I'll let you go."

No mmmfff this time. Nothing but a little sighing sound.

And the softest, most delicate whisper of her breath.

"Good," Robin murmured, and he changed the angle of his mouth on hers.

God, she tasted sweet.

Slowly, he drew her erect. Put both hands into her hair, kissed a little harder.

She tasted like apples with a mix of sunshine on a soft June morning, smelled like cinnamon and wildflowers combined after a summer rain.

His arms went around her; gathered her against the hardness of his body, felt the softness of her breasts and belly against him.

The crowd cheered.

Robin barely heard them.

He was lost in what was happening, the feel of the woman in his arms, the race of her heart against his.

An urgency he'd never felt before raced through him. He was on fire. So was she.

She was trembling. Whimpering. She was--

_Sweet Lord._

The truth hit hard. She wasn't on fire for him, she was terrified.

She hadn't acquiesced to his kisses, she'd stopped fighting him.

What kind of bastard did this to a woman? Scared the life out of her, and all to save his own sorry ass?

All at once, the trip to Frankfurt lost its meaning. He was a financial wizard but what he really was, was a gambler. He'd lost money before; he'd lose it again.

Millions were on the line.

So what?

When had winning become so important he'd use someone--not just "someone" but a woman--to make sure the dice rolled the way he wanted?

He lifted his head. Looked down into the face of the woman in his arms.

His gut twisted.

Her skin was pale, the color all but completely drained all the way. Her breathing was swift; he could see the rapid pulse fluttering in her throat. Her eyes--her eyes, he knew, would haunt him forever. They were beautiful eyes, but now they had turned dark with fear, almost teary.

"Oh, honey," he said softly.

She shook her head. "Don't," she said in a tiny whisper. "Please don't--"

He kissed her again, but lightly, tenderly, his lips barely moving against hers.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I never meant to frighten you." His words accented.

There was a whisper of sound behind him. He was giving the game away. Screw it. Screw whatever would happen next. All he wanted was to get that look of fear off her lovely face and eyes.

"Lovely" didn't come close.

The cloud of silken, black hair. The dark almond eyes. The soft, rosy mouth.

She was still shaking.

No way was he going to let that continue.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I never intended to hurt you."

Her face registered disbelief, and Robin shook his head. "It's the truth, milady. This was never about you. Not the way you think."

He framed her face with his hands, raised it just a little so he was looking directly into her eyes.

"I ran into a problem. With some people here."

"Damn right," the guy growled.

Robin heard him hawk up a glob of spit, heard it hit the floor.

She looked past his shoulder, her eyes widening. She looked at Robin again. Two slender parallel lines appeared between her eyebrows.

"See, I told them I was waiting for my date--"

"That's what he said," one of the Mountain's pals said. "But we knew he was lying, and we know what to do with liars."

A loud rumble of assent greeted with proclamation.

Her gaze swept past Robin again. Her eyes filled with comprehension.

"And then," Robin said, ignoring the interruption, "then, the door opened and you walked in. One look and I knew that you were right for me, that you were perfect, that you were--"

"The woman you'd been waiting for," she said, very softly.

He smiled, a little sadly, because there was no question how this was going down. The only thing he needed to do now was get her safely out of here because however she'd come to be at this bar tonight, she was definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Exactly right, my lady. You were just the woman I'd have waited for, and--"

The brunette put her finger over his lips.

"Of course I was," she said, her voice louder now, loud enough to carry to the men behind Robin. "How foolish of you to think I wasn't going to keep our date, just because I showed up a bit late."

This time, Robin was the one whose eyes widened.

"What?"

"I was angry, I admit. That quarrel we had last week? About--about me thinking you had been with another woman?" she smiled. "I know I was wrong. You would not cheat on me, not ever."

_For mercy's sake, man, say something!_

"Uh--uh, no. I mean you're right. I would not cheat on you. Ever."

She nodded.

"But I couldn't just admit that." Another smile, this one, half-vixen, half-innocent. "It's against all precepts of male-female genetically-transmitted courtship behavior."

_The what?_

"So I decided to keep you waiting tonight. Let you cool your heels a little, kind of wonder if I was going to show up."

Another smile, this one is so hot and secy Robin felt his knees go weak. "And you did wonder, didn't you? About me and how I'd deal with our date this evening."

Robin tried to answer. Nothing happened. He cleared his throat, and tried again.

"Yes. Right. I surely did. Wonder, I mean, about how you'd deal with our--"

"And you reacted to perfection! Every single DNA-coded response was in evidence. Machismo. Dominance. Aggression. Even an attempt to territorial marking."

_Territorial marking? Wasn't that about dogs peeing on trees?_

"I am so pleased," she said, "that you've proved the tenets of my paper."

"Your paper."

"Oh yes, exactly! The way you reacted on seeing me, the way you dealt with my less-than-warm greeting..."

There was a hum behind him. Whispers. Snorts. Laughter.

It was, without question, time to move on.

Robin nodded. "That's great. It's terrific. But I really think we should discuss the rest of it out--"

"Why, sweetie," she all but purred, "don't tell me you're upset by learning you've helped my research!"

Not just laughter, but a couple of deeps guffaws greeted that pronouncement.

Definitely time, Robin thought, holding his smile as he took the brunette by the elbow and marched her to the door.

 

************************

Halfway there, Regina's alter-ego snickered.

 _Should have quit while you were ahead, Renée,_ it said.

Indeed, Regina thought. She should have.

The stranger who'd kissed her was hurrying her toward the door.

Maybe she'd taken this a bit too far.

She had, if the look on the man's face was any indication.

His eyes were cool. Slate-cool, and a little scary. His mouth--she knew all about his mouth, the warmth of it, the possessive feel of it, the roughness of his beard that somehow stung her lips, the taste of it--his mouth was curved in what was surely a phony smile, and he was hustling her along with a breakneck speed.

Still, he'd deserved that last little jibe.

Saving him from being torn apart by that bunch of--of stone-age savages was on thing, but she couldn't just let him get away with what he'd done.

He'd scared the life half out of her, grabbing her, kissing her, dragging her up against his body.

And yes, she'd come out tonight for--for that. Yes, she felt how to be kissed, to feel that rush, the wild beating of her heart, but all those were memories, years ago, with her lost love.

She had imagined a man. A man in suit. A successful executive, someone who could be trusted to be gentle with a woman. Not a-rough looking guy in boots and a T-shirt and faded jeans.

_Stop complaining. You wanted gorgeous, and gorgeous is what he is._

Yes. But still--

"You'll come back soon," a voice called.

A roar of laughter followed the words.

She felt him stiffen beside her. His fingers dug into her elbow hard enough to make her grasp.

"Hey," she said indignantly, "hey--"

He flung the door open, stepped outside, but he didn't let go of her. Instead he frog-marched her through the parking lot to the enormous black Range Rover parked next to her 560SL Benz.

"Mister. I am not--"

"Are you okay?"

Regina blinked. There was concern in his voice, and it wasn't what she expected.

"No. Yes. I guess..."

"That was a close call. You were doing great, until the end."

He grinned. "You had to work me up a little, right? Not that I blame you."

"You? Blame me?" Indignation colored her voice. "Listen, mister--"

"Truth is, we probably got out, just in time."

So much for indignation, which didn't stand a chance against confusion.

"In time for what?" Regina said. "What was going on back there?"

"Its kind of complicated." The rough looking British guy smiled. This time, that smile was real. She could see the dimples beneath the beard. "Thank you for digging me out of a deep, dark hole."

"Well, you're welcome. I guess. I just don't understand what--"

"It's not worth going to. It was just a mix-up, that's all."

He smiled again. Regina's heart leaped. Did he have any idea how devastatingly sexy that smile was? And that accent.

She told herself to say something. Anything. Gawking at him wasn't terribly sophisticated. But then what would he know about sophistication? The boots, the jeans, the hard muscles...

Everything about him was hard.

The muscled chest. The taut abdominal. The--the male part of him she'd felt press against her belly just before she stopped kissing her.

 _That's the girl,_ her alter-ego said.

Regina swallowed dryly.

Her brain was going in half a dozen directions at once.

"You--you really had no right to--to just walk up to me and...and--"

"--and kiss you?"

She felt herself blush.

"Yes. Exactly. Even the most highly sexualized primitive cultures, there's a certain decorum involved in expressing desire..." his smile tilted.

"Is there," he said.

It wasn't a question--it was a statement. And the way he was looking at her...

She took a quick step back.

Or she would have taken a quick step back, but the shiny black truck was right behind her.

"The point is," she said, trying to focus on why she was angry at him, "you should not have done what you did."

"Kissed you, without so much a 'hello.'"

"Right. Precisely. The proper protocol, prior to intimacy--"

Regina stopped in mid-sentence. She sounded like an idiot. Even her alter-ego crept away in embarassment.

"Never mind," she said quickly. "It's late. And I--"

"Robin," he said. "Robin Locksley."

She stared at him. "Pardon me?"

He smiled. Again. Those dimples. And her heart jumped again. His deep blue eyes shining in the night, poring through her very soul.

"My name." His voice had gone low and husky. "I'm introducing myself. That would have been the proper protocol, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"And your name is...?"

She swallowed hard. Again. She was not good at this. At male-female banter. At any of it.

"I could call you Lovely," he reached out, caught a strand of her hair between his fingers, smoothed its silken length.

"Or Forever 21."

"What?" Regina looked down herself. "Is the dress tag show--"

"That's how you look," he said softly. "As if you stepped out of their catalogue. Their Christmas catalogue, the one that always had the prettiest things in it."

Her knees were going to buckle.

His voice was like a caress, that deep accentuated voice. His eyes were like hot, blue coals.

He was--he was just what she'd been looking for, hoping for--

"But I'd rather call you by your real name, if you'll tell it to me."

"Its Re-Renée," she whispered. "My name is Renée."

"Well, Renée, you did a foolish thing tonight."

God, she could feel herself blushing again.

"Listen here, Mr. Lockley."

"Locksley. Robin Locksley."

"Listen here, Mr. Locksley. I only let you kiss me after I realized you were going to get killed if I didn't!"

He chuckled.

Even his chuckle was sexy.

"I was talking about you going into that bar in the first place."

"Oh."

"Oh, for sure. You have any idea what kind of bunch you were dealing with, back there?"

"I--I--" Regina sighed. "Np."

"I didn't think so. But it's lucky for me you walked in."

"It certainly is," she said lifting her chin. "Or you'd be just another stain on that already-stained floor."

He grinned. "But yeah, a happy stain."

"That's so typical! Men and their need to assert power through dominance--"

"Men and their need to save their tails, my lady. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have bothered, but I have something going down on Monday, and the last thing I need is to show up looking like the winner of a bare knuckles fight."

"You couldn't have won. There were too many of them."

"Of course I could have won," he said so easily that she knew he meant it.

A little tremor went through her.

She'd come out tonight in search for a man. And she'd found one. But he was--he was more than she'd anticipated.

More than handsome.

More than sexy.

More than macho.

 _And more than everything you will want in your bed,_ her alter-ego purred.

Regina tried to step back again.

"Well," she said brightly. "it's been--it's been interesting, Mr. Locksley. Now, if you don't mind--"

"About those protocols,"he said, his voice low, his tone husky, "have we met them all?"

"The what?"

"The protocols. The ones needed before any kind of intimacy.

The woman named Renée blushed.

Again.

She did that, a lot.

Robin liked it.

Would her face and breasts turn the same shade of soft pink during sex? Would her eyes lock on his the way they were now, dark and wide but filled with passion instead of confusion?

Crazy as it was, the fate of the world seemed to hinge on learning the answer.

"Because if we've met those protocols," he said, moving closer, flattening his palms against the cab of the truck, so that his arms encased her, "I'd like to take the next step."

"What next--"

He looked into her eyes. Looked at her lips. Gave her a second to figure out what was coming.

"No," she whispered.

"Yes," he said in what seemed like a slow motion, he lowered his head to hers, their forehead touching, and took her lips.

Her lips parted. His tongue slipped between them. Her heart banged into her throat. The taste of him, the feel of him inside her mouth, his beard tickling.

 _Ohmygod,_ she though, _oh--my--God!_

He groaned.

His arms went around her. Hers rose and wound around his neck. She pressed herself against him. And gasped.

He was hard as rock.

She wanted to rub against him. Wanted to move her hips against his. Wanted to--to--

He lifted her off the ground, one arm around her waist, the other just below her backside. Her face was on a level with his; he kissed her slowly, caught her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on her flesh, and--

A dazzling bolt of pure desire shot through her, the same as it had for one amazing moment in the bar, when her fear and indignation had given way to something very, very different. Something she'd refused to admit, even to herself.

"Wait," she whispered, but he didn't and she didn't want him to wait, didn't want anything to wait even though this wasn't going according to plan.

He set her down, slowly, on her feet.

 _Don't stop,_ she thought.

He didn't.

He put his hands on her.

On her hips, bringing her, hard against his erection.

On her breasts, oh, on her breasts, his thumbs dancing with a tantalizing slowness over her nipples.

"What," she whispered breathlessly, "what are you doing?"

His laugh was low and husky, and so filled with sexual promise that she almost moaned.

"What does it feel like I'm doing?"

She swallowed dryly. "It feels like--like you're making love to me."

"Good." He kissed her throat. "Because that's exactly what I want to do, Renée. What I want to go on doing."

He kissed the place where her neck and shoulder joined.

It was magic.

Her eyes closed; the world went away.

And when he asked her to go home with him, she gave him the only logical answer because, after all, she was nothing if not logical.

She said, "Yes."

 ************************

 

The Corvette would have been faster but Robin was driving his Rover tonight and the Range Rover, modified to his specifications, was as fast as anything on the road that was street-legal. Besides, his condo was only less than half an hour away.

Still it seemed like an eternity.

Robin was having a tough time keeping his hands off the woman seated beside him.

He was in the prime of his life, a sexually active male, and their meeting had been just unusual enough to have an edge of excitement.

Still there was something to be said for the spur-of-the moment sex in unexpected places, but sex outside a bar filled with a bunch of what might charitably called gangsters wasn't high on the list.

Besides, he wanted more than a quick relief. He wanted...

Who knew what he wanted tonight?

Had he gone into that bar looking for trouble?

As a boy, soccer had been an outlet for the anger he'd most times felt at his father for spending more time with the young men who served under him than his own son, even after their mother's death.

In Afghanistan, once he'd figured out that he was fighting in a war governed by Politics and not Morality, he'd taken to long, punishing runs across the hot desert sand.

So tonight, was he angry at his friends for abandoning him? For the changes in his life...

Hell.

What kind of thoughts were those to have when a beautiful woman was with him, a woman whose feel and taste promised paradise?

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe what he needed was quick relief, that moment when you sank into a woman's softness and head...

Damn it all.

He kept thinking like this, things would be over before they got started.

Ahead, a traffic light went from green to amber. He stepped down even harder on the gas and shot through the intersection once the light changed again.

Only another couple of blocks to go.

Renée was quiet. In fact, she had not said a word since they have gotten into his Rover.

He glanced at her. She was sitting very straight in the leather bucket seat, eyes straight ahead, hands folded in her lap.

Hands that were trembling.

Was she having second thoughts?

"Hey," he said softly.

She looked at him, then away. He reached over, put his hand over hers. Her skin was icy.

Was she frightened? It did not seem possible, not after the way she responded to him in the parking lot, but he lived long enough to know anything is possible.

He wrapped his hand around hers, held on until her fingers knotted and he could bring her hand to rest under his on the gearshift.

"We're almost there."

She nodded. And caught her bottom lip between her teeth. His body tightened at the sight.

"I Live in North Beach. Near Fisherman's Wharf."

She did not answer. Why would she? What was he, a Realtor taking a client to see a property? If only she'd say something...

And how come he was taking her to his bed?

He wasn't big on taking his lovers home with him. Not that this woman was going to be his lover but...

Why was he making this so complicated?

Robin cleared his throat.

"Did you--would you like to stop first? For a drink? For something to eat?"

She stared at him. Why wouldn't she? he knew, she knew, what was going to happen next and in the middle of all that, he was going to, what, stop at a diner?

Maybe.

He flashed a quick smile.

"It just hit me, we blew past the 'hello, how are you' formalities. So, if you would like to stop at a restaurant--"

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. His body tightened in response.

"No."

Her voice was low, but her answer was clear.

It was a good thing his place was directly ahead.

He slowed the truck. Hit the button that opened the garage doors. Drove inside. Hit the button that closed the doors...

And thought, to hell with waiting, undid his seat belt, reached over and undid hers, and drew her into his arms.

"Renée," he said, and he lifted her face to his. Her lips parted, and kissed her.

It was like the parking lot all over again.

The kiss, the feel of her mouth under his, made his blood pound.

He could not remember ever feeling a hunger this deep.

At first, he thought it was not the same for her. She did not move, did not respond--until suddenly she made a soft little sound in the back of her throat and opened her mouth to his.

Now, he thought.

Right now. Right here. Get this out of the way so he could take her to bed without wondering if he could make it that far, even in his fevered state, he knew the logistics,the cramped space--made it impossible.

Still, he had to touch her, intimately.

Her skirt barely covered her thighs, and he slid his hand under it, lay his palm over her silk undergarment...

She gave a sweet, breathless cry.

"Robin."

It was the first time she had spoken his name.

The way she said it, the sudden hot dampness that soaked her undergarment, almost undid him.

He kissed her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She moaned, dug her hands into his hair, and he shoved her panty aside, stroked her, stroked her...

She made high, incoherent little cries.

He could feel his muscles tensing.

If he did not stop now, it would be too late.

One last quick kiss. Then he stepped from the truck, went to the passenger side and gathered her into his arms, capturing her mouth with his as he carried her to the private elevator that led to his penthouse.

He set her on her feet, swiped his keycard. The doors opened, then whisked shut, and he clasped her face between his hands.

"Don't be afraid," he said gruffly, though he didn't know what made him say it. She had not been shy about admitting she wanted to go to bed with him.

Still, there was something about her, a hesitancy...

I'm not afraid," Regina whispered.

But it was a lie.

Almost as bad as lie not telling him why she wanted to be with him.

What he made her feel had nothing to do with what she'd planned to do tonight.

Well it did, but not as--as quite a research project.

How would he react if he knew that?

More to the point, how would he react if he knew all the rest? If he knew she had never been as far as he had with Daniel or with any man like this?

Almost certainly would never be with one again?

And yet--and yet, all of that had somewhat slipped away.

What mattered now was how he is kissing her, touching her. The way he was kissing her now. The way his erection pressed to her belly.

He felt huge.

Would she be able to, accommodate him?

She had felt this with Daniel before, but they were not ready back then. She was too scared of her mother to do more than make out with him, years ago.

Nothing had prepared her for this.

The feel of his aroused sex against her. The promise of all that masculine power. The insistent demand of it.

His mouth was on her breasts now. He nipped lightly at her nipples through the silk of her dress and they hardened into pebbles.

Her breasts ached.

There was an ache low, low in her belly too.

And she was wet. Wet and hot.

She whimpered as he pushed down the bodice of her dress; his lips closed around one nipple but the silk of her bra was between her flesh and his mouth. The feel of his lips and teeth on her was not enough.

It was too much.

How could it be both?

He clasped her shoulders. Turned her, gently so that her back was to him. Her hair had come undone and he nuzzled it aside, kissed the nape of her neck, nipped the flesh, soothed the small, sweet torment with a stroke of his tongue.

She heard the hiss of her zipper.

"Wait," she gasped, "someone might-"

"It's a private elevator," he said in that rough, accented, sexy, gravel-and-velvet whisper. "We're all alone."

Regina trembled.

All alone, she thought, as he kissed his way down her spine.

All alone, she thought as he slowly turned her to him in her black lace bra. Black panties, black thigh-high stocking. Red stiletto heels.

His gaze moved her over. Slowly, so slowly it made her skin tingle in her breasts, her pelvis, her legs.

His eyes lifted, met hers.

What she saw in those deep, dark blue depths made her knees go weak.

Her hands came up. One fluttered to her breasts. The other went to to the apex of her thighs. Slowly, he reached out, brought her hands to his lips and kissed the palms.

"Don't hide from me, Renée," he said in his thick accent. "Let me see you. You're beautiful. So incredibly stunning."

He released one of her wrists. Ran his hand lightly over her, from her lips to the throat of her breasts, from her breasts to her belly, her belly to the vee of her thighs, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Robin," she said in an unsteady whisper.

"Yes," he said. "that's right. It's me, touching you. Me, wanting you." His eyes were almost dark blue with hunger as he reached around her, undid her bra, then let it drop to the floor.

"Stunning," he whispered, and then his mouth was on her flesh, her breasts, her nipples.

She was coming apart, coming apart, as she sobbed his name again.

"Renée. Spread your legs for me."

The words, the way he said them, sent an arrow of longing through her..

"Lovely. Spread your legs."

Was it a request? Or was it a command? Either way, it was impossible.

She couldn't. No. She couldn't...

He kissed her again.

Heart pounding. she did what he'd asked.

He said something, low and how with urgency. She could not understand the words but the look in his face told her everything she needed to know.

Still, she was not prepared for what happened next. The way he cupped her, the way it felt to know that the heat burning her legs was now burning in his palm.

A high, pealing sob of almost unbearable pleasure broke from her throat. She swayed. He scooped her into his arms just as the elevator stopped and the doors opened, and she buried her face in the hard curve where his throat and shoulder joined, inhaling the scents of soap, woodsy perfume and man.

She never understood that thing about women liking the smell of male sweat. She knew some of them did, it was a well-researched fact, but it had never made sense until now as she drew the masculine scent of him inside her with every breath. He smelled of pine and woods, his sweat mixed with his perfume. It turned her on even more.

He carried her through an enormous living room. Light filtered through tall windows, illuminated low furniture, high ceilings, varnished wood floors.

Ahead, a glass and steel staircase angled toward the next level.

He climbed it with her still in his arms, his gait steady, his heart beating against hers. He paused on the landing, kissed her and whispered her name.

Moments later, they were in another enormous room.

His bedroom, with the bed--big and wide, covered with black and white pillows, centered under a star-filled skylight.

He carried her to the bed, stopped beside it and put her down slowly, very slowly, her body sliding against his.

He kissed her.

Sweet, light whispers of his lips on her that gradually grew deep and hungry until her head was tilted back, her face was raised to his, his hands were deep in the tumble of her hair as he held her.

They were both gasping for air, their breath mingling.

But she was almost naked and he wasn't. It made her feel...

She pulled back.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice low.

"You haven't taken off--"

"No. Not yet." His slow smile raised the temperature a thousand degrees. "I like having you undressed while I'm still wearing my clothes."

The truth was, she liked it too.

There was something exciting about it.

He kissed her eyes, her lips. When he swept his fingers over her nipples, she shimmered with heat. When his mouth followed the path his fingers had taken, she moaned.

Why hadn't someone told her this was how it felt, to have a man suck on your breasts? To know that he wanted you and to want him in return with such hot need that it made you breathless?

She heard herself whimper when he drew back.

"It's all right," he whispered, and it was all right because now he was peeling away the narrow strip of silk that secured her panties, working it slowly, slowly down her hips. Her legs.

"Hold on to me," he said gruffly.

She put her hands on his shoulders. Drew her panties to her ankles.

"Lift your foot," he said.

She did.

She would do anything he asked, anything, anything...

Regina cried out.

But not this!

His mouth, the delicate curls that guarded her womanhood. His fingers, gently opening her to him. His tongue, licking and teasing...

She wanted to push him away.

Instead, she tangled her fingers in his hair. Her head fell back, she moaned. Something was happening to her. She was trembling, she was coming apart.

The orgasm took her by surprise.

She screamed. Screamed again. Started to fall, but he caught her, and took her down to the bed with him.

"Now," she heard herself plead, "please, Robin, now, please..."

He tore off his clothes, fumbled open the drawer in the low table beside the bed and took out a foil packet.

She had one quick glimpse of him naked as he tore the packet open.

He was beautiful, that now reddish skin on his chest stretched over layers of hard muscle.

And his sex.

She'd been right. He is big.

She felt a moment of trepidation as he rolled the condom on.

She blinked, lifted her eyes to his.

He kissed her. Clasped her hands. Brought them him above her head.

And entered her.

At first, she watched his face.

The darkness of his eyes. The tightening of the skin over his cheekbones. The way his lips drew back from his teeth.

Her vision blurred, she stopped watching and started feeling.

And, dear God, nothing had ever felt like this,

He was filling her. Moving deeper and deeper into her. She was drowning, drowning in ecstasy, everything in her centered on the feel of him filling her.

Her fingers wove through his.

There was so much more of him. Even when she thought she had taken all of him, she had not. There was more of him.

More, more.

She gave an inadvertent gasp at a sudden flicker of pain. He went completely still.

Her eyes flew open. Sweat glistened on his muscled shoulders, his chest, his arms.

"Renée?"

She saw the disbelief in his eyes. He was going to stop, she was sure of it, and she could not let that happen.

"Renée," he groaned, "Goddamn it, why didn't you--"

She lifted herself to him and impaled herself on his erection.

For a heartbeat, the world stood still.

Then Robin plunged deep, deeper still.

Regina cried out as a wave of sensation swept her up, lifted her higher than the night, than the stars.

He collapsed against her. She started to put her arms around him but the second she touched him, he jerked away and sat up.

Her throat tightened. Automatically she clutched the duvet to her chin and sat up too.

"Robin?" she cleared her throat. "Listen, I--I know you did not expect-"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would I tell you?" she said in genuine confusion. "It's not exactly a conversation starter."

"I would have done things differently." He hesitated. "Damn it. I might not have done anything at all. No man wants to be responsible for--"

"Is that what you're worried about?"It shouldn't. I wanted this to happen. To, you know, lose my--"

Ridiculous. After all of this, she could not say the word.

"Your virginity." He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Wait a minute, are you saying you planned this?"

Warning bells rang. Something in the way he'd said that...

Robin held her by the shoulders.

"You did, didn't you?"

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth.

His eyes narrowed.

"So, what was I? The lottery winner?"

"You were...a good choice. A very good choice," she said quickly, but she saw his mouth thin.

"A very good choice," he said in a soft, ominous voice.

"Why? Did I meet some kind of criteria? Some list of protocols in a textbook?"

"No," she said, and added the first stupid thing that came to mind. "I mean, the protocols I drew up were strictly my own..."

He got up, got to his feet.

"Get dressed," he said, his tone not just flat but cold as he grabbed his discarded jeans from the floor and yanked them on.

"Would you just listen to-"

She was talking to an empty room.

Maybe she did not handle this very well, but she had never imagined the man who completed her research would react this way. Weren't men happy to deflower virgins? All the data said they were.

And what did it matter now?

What counted was getting out of here.

She dressed quickly, but then, how long could it take to put on panties and a pair of shoes? Robin Locksley had never gotten around to taking off her stockings.

The very thought sent her to humiliation through her bones.

Everything else--her bra, her dress, her purse was still in the elevator.

She wanted to cry but no way was she going to let that happen.

His shirt was still on the floor.

She snatched it up, dragged it over her head. It fell to the bottom of her buttocks. Then left her with the tops of her stockings showing but it would have to do.

She went down the stairs as rapidly as the miserable stiletto heels would permit. The lights were on. She hated their bright luminescence but at least she could see where she was going.

The man who had taken her virginity was standing at the far end of the living room, in front of the open doors of his private elevator. His dark blond hair was mussed; an overhead spot highlighted the planes and angles of his hard body. He was wearing only his jeans; he'd zipped the fly but he had not closed the top button.

He was a gorgeous sight--

As if that mattered.

Her chin came up.

She stalked toward him, hoping she would not ruin her exit by stumbling in the damned heels.

"Your clothes," he said.

Her face heated. Her dress, purse, her bra were in the hand he extended toward her. She snatched everything from him, pulled the dress on over the shirt because there was no way she was going to take it off and let him see her breasts again, and stuffed her bra into her purse, though it barely fit.

She started past him again. His arm shot out and barred the way.

"Excuse me," she said coldly.

"I phoned down. The concierge will have a taxi waiting."

"I can call a taxi by myself."

"Don't be a fool." And take this, it should cover the fare."

She looked at the bills in his hand, then at him."

"I do not need or want your money, Mr. Locksley."

"Take it."

Regina shoved his hand aside. "Are you deaf? I said--"

"Did you think this little escapade would be fun? Picking up a stranger, turning him on, getting him to take what is obvious you haven't been able to get rid of in the usual way?"

"I am not going to have this conversation. Just step aside please."

Robin grabbed her wrist.

"You are going to have this conversation! What in the bloody hell were you thinking?"

"You want to discuss this?" Regina said, glaring at him.

"Fine. Let's set the record straight. I did not pick you up, you picked me up."

"For fuck's sake I did! All I wanted--"

"All you wanted was to use me to save your precious self from getting beaten to a messy pulp! And I was kind enough to oblige."

"You did a lot more than that, my lady."

"You're right. I made the sad mistake of letting you seduce me!"

He laughed. Laughed! Regina balled her hands into fists.

"I seduced you? You were all over me. What happened tonight was an act of charity on my part. I mean, even without knowing you were a virgin, I knew you were in desperate need of a good--"

Regina slapped his face.

"You're an unmitigated asshole," she said her voice trembling.

"And you're a naive, silly girl," Robin snarled. "You're just lucky you did not end up in bed with a--serial killer!"

"Bad enough I ended up in bed with a man who-who does not know the first thing about sex-and how to please a wo--"

Robin hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

She fought, and struggled. He caught her wrists in one hand, dragged her arms behind her and went on kissing her and kissing her until she moaned and her lips clung to his,

That was when he let go of her.

She stared at him, at the arrogant little smile, curving his lips, the I-told-you-so look in his eyes.

She wanted to say something snarky and clever, but her head felt empty as her heart. The best she could manage was to spin away and stumble into the elevator.

The doors shut.

As soon as they did, she yanked down the straps of her dress, peeled off his T-shirt and dumped it into the floor. Seconds later, she emerged in a marble lobby, the size of an airplane hangar. She marched through it, ignored the concierge calling after her, the taxi waiting at the curb. She wanted nothing, absolutely nothing from Robin Locksley.

It was hotter than blazes, even at this late hour. She walked for endless blocks, sweated through her dress, took off her shoes and carried them because surely women's feet were not meant for four-inch heels.

She knew she must look awful. Cabs slowed when she hailed them, then sped away.

At last, one pulled to the curb.

The driver stared as she climbed in, but she did not give a flying fuck.

She was heading home, and Robin Locksley was exactly what he had been intended to be.

An experience.

And if these last few months had taught her anything, she thought grimly, as the cab rushed into the night, it was that not all experiences were good ones...

Alone in his condo, Robin paced like a caged tiger.

What kind of woman saw sex as a research? What kind of woman thought she could use a man to rid herself of something she no longer wanted and get away with it?

All those moans when she lay in her arms. The little cries of passion. Part of a plan...

Or real?

Real, judging by the way she'd responded to that last, furious kiss.

Yes, but so what?

If he had not walked her over to the bar, if someone else had, she would have ended up in another guy's bed.

His jaw tightened.

And?

What did it matter? Why would he give a bloody crap who she slept with? Who took her virginity?

Who could make her tremble in his arms?

"You're a bloody fool, Robin." he snarled to himself.

A furious fool, and the anger tucked away deep inside him, anger at a world that always seemed to determine to prove he was unable to control it despite everything he tried, blazed hot and high.

He wanted to go back to that bar. He knew those jocks and wannabe Hell's Angels would be happy to see him, that he and they would step out into the night and trade blows until the darkness receded.

But he was Robin Locksley.

He was a man, not like those drunken idiots in that bar. He was in control of his life, of himself, of his emotions.

And there was that trip coming up Monday. Not just for himself but for his clients, who had put their trust, and their millions in his care.

He owed them better.

So he went, instead, to the workout room on the lower level of his penthouse. He ran miles on his treadmill, worked out on the Nautilus, lifted free weights until sweat poured from his body.

Two hours later, exhausted, he showered, fell into bed and then into dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this fic - Regina had no sister, no Zelena, and sadly, no parents anymore. And I apologize if in this fic Robin may come off really as an asshole, my headcanon is him being all cocky and arrogant when he was younger, besides did he not mention he was just a mere drunk with a lion tattoo? heehee. Another head canon is that Daniel was not Regina's first lover, so yeah ;)

Robin's week passed quickly.

Three days in Frankfurt and a last-minute, two-day stopover in London.

Success in each place, agreements negotiated and concluded. He felt great about it--victory was always sweet but something was missing.

He couldn't get the woman out of his head.

And it made no sense.

Yes, the sex had been good. Great, when you came down to it. Not because she'd been a virgin but because she'd been--she'd been so sweet, so honest...

Except she was neither of those things. Not really.

Sweet? A woman who walked into a bar, looking for a hookup?

Honest? A woman who let a man find out she was a virgin when it was too late to change his mind?

And he would have changed it. Of course he would.

A man didn't want the responsibility of taking a woman's innocence...

Her wonderful innocence.

And, hell, what was that all about? He was not, never had been out of those smug fools who thought a guy was entitled to bed everything in sight, and a woman should not live like a nun too.

Apparently, Renée must have had. 

Until last Friday night.

And then she'd given herself to a man.

To Him.

Except, he could have been anybody. That she'd walked into that bar at the right moment had been a pure chance.

She hadn't chosen him, she'd stumbled across him.

"Stop it," he muttered, as he sat in the comfort of his private jet, flying high above the Atlantic. 

The world was filled with women, beautiful, available women. 

What he needed was to call one of them, take her for drinks and dinner.

Good plan, but it could wait until he was home.

There was no rush. 

It was Friday again, they'd land in a few hours and he could think of half dozen women who'd drop by any plans to spend an evening with him.

Hey, if a man couldn't be honest with himself, who could he be honest with?

Still, he didn't reach for his cell phone when he got to his condo.

He was travel-weary; even the comfort of a private jet didn't make up for things like time zone changes. So he undressed, showered, put on a pair of old gym shorts, opened a chilled Anchor IPA and took it out on the terrace, where he sank down into a lounger.

It was the kind of day San Fran rarely saw in midsummer; warm but not hot, no humidity, the sun shining from the kind of perfect blue sky he'd always associated with home. 

Funny.

He'd flown fighters through equally blue skies, under the kiss of an equally hot sun, in places that were just unpronounceable names on a map to most people, but those skies, that sun, had always seemed alien, as if he'd gone to sleep at home one night and awakened the next morning in a world that made no sense. 

Robin lifted the bottle of ale to his lips and took a long, cooling swallow.

He knew that his best friend, and cousin, who had also served the country, felt the same.

The wars of the last couple of decades had been very different from the ones his father had talked about when he was growing up.

The old man was a general. Four stars, all rules, regs, spit and polish. He'd raised him on tales of heroism that went back centuries- _"The blood of valiant warriors flows in your vein, son,"_ He'd say--and on stories of their more recent ancestors, men who'd battled their way across the US, and settled in what eventually had become their home, where they'd founded El Lago, the family ranch--if you could call a half a million acre kingdom a "ranch".

Problem was, his father's stories did not seem to apply to the realities of the twenty-first century, but at least he had come home again, settled here in the States, if not quite the same way he had left.

David had been wounded in battle, Arthur had been scarred by the dark machinations of an agency nobody talked about.

He had gotten off lucky.

No wounds, no scars... 

Suddenly he thought back a few years, to a woman he'd dated for a while after he had come home.

Actually, she was a shrink with enough initials after her name to fill out the alphabet.

She said he had a problem. He could not connect emotionally, she said and even though she sounded angry, she sighed and kissed him, and told him she could hear her internal clock ticking and it was time she found a man who was not just willing to take risks skydiving and flying and doing who in hell knew what else, it was time to find one ready to risk everything by committing to a relationship.

Robin took another mouthful of ale.

Then she told him she knew he could not help it, that he almost surely had PTSD.

But he did not.

He did not bother telling her that.

After all, she was a shrink and painfully certain she knew all there was to know about the human psyche but the simple truth was, he'd come through two wars--Afghanistan and Iraq--just fine. No physical injuries, no Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

A few bad dreams, maybe.

Okay, maybe nightmares, was more like it.

But he survived them.

He had survived nightmares just as bad, the ones that had almost drowned him in despair when he was little and his mother left him.

Robin frowned. 

Bloody hell.

She had not left him. She died. Not her fault. Not anybody's fault. And he had come through it, gathered himself up, moved on.

One thing a man learned in life.

It was not smart to become dependent on another human being.

To get emotionally involved, the way he had done last week with that lovely brunette...

"For cripes sake,"

He did not get involved. Neither had she. Wasn't that the point? That she had picked him to take her to bed instead of him wanting to do it?

And why was he wasting time, thinking about her? Why was she still in his head at all?

Robin finished the ale, got to his feet and headed inside.

He does not need a date.

He needed a reality check, and what could be better for that than a couple of hours spent with his best friends?

He made a three-way call, got David and Arthur talking. After a couple of minutes of bull, he pointed out that it was Friday night.

"I always told you he was brilliant," David said solemnly.

"Yeah," Arthur said. "I even bet he even knows the month and the year."

Robin ignored the horseplay.

"So are you two sods up for it? Can you get away for the evening?"

"Get away?" Arthur snorted. "Of course, you tit." And then, he must have covered the phone because they heard him say, in a muffled voice., "Honey, you okay with me spending some time tonight with the fellas?" 

Robin snickered, and whispered. "Who's the tit now?" David didn't. He just said getting together sounded good to him.

"You don't want to check with Mary Margaret, David?"

"Why would I?" David said, bristling, and then he cleared his throat and said Mary Margaret would be meeting with her book club tonight anyway, so--

"So," Robin said, reminded once again, as if he needed reminding, of yet another reason why "commitment" was never going to be a word in his vocabulary. "Where do you want to meet, fellas?"

David named a couple of places. Arthur said why don't they try someplace different? A client had told him good things about a new place that had opened in Richmond.

"Local beers, good wine list, great steaks, music up front but booths in the back where, he says, you can actually hear yourself carry on a conversation."

"Won't it be run by University types?" David said. "You know, alfalfa sprouts, indie music, T-shirts that read Schopenhauer was right?"

Arthur and Robin chuckled.

"Not if my client likes the place," Arthur said. "His brand of philosophy leans more toward Charlie Brown than Schopenhauer." 

They all laughed. Then David said, "Okay, let's try it. Eight is okay?"

It was perfect. Robin had assured them, and he found himself whistling while on the shower.

 

***

David got there before the others.

He snagged a booth with a crisp fifty dollar bill and when he saw Robin come through the door, he got on his feet and signaled.

"Arthur's client got it wrong," he said. "If it were winter, the amount of tweed in this place would keep us warm straight through until spring."

"Indeed," Robin said, "I noticed. There's some kind of party up front, lots of skinny guys with beards and women with hair under their arms."

David laughed. "You always did have a way with words, but what the hell, we're here. And I just saw a platter of rib-eyes go by."

"Always knew you understood the basics," Robin said solemnly. He cocked his head. "Married life agrees with you, mate. It's made you less looking like piss, anyway."

David laughed and they exchanged quick bear hugs.

"A fine compliment, coming from you, considering everybody says we look a bit like brothers from another mother,"

"Three brothers, from another mother, except I'm the most dashingly handsome between the three of us," Arthur had said, as he joined them. More quick embraces, a few jabs in the shoulders, and then they all slid into the booth.

"How did the trip in Germany go?"

"Great. I closed one bloody hell of a deal."

"Perfect," David told Arthur. "He's handsome like us. And modest too. What a guy."

"And your love life?" Arthur said. "How is that going, mate?"

Robin looked at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"It means," he said with a deliberate care, "How's your love life going?"

"It's going fine."

David laughed. "Hey, man. It's not a trick question. Our ladies are certain to ask."

Robin let out a long breath.

"Yes. Okay. Sorry, I guess I'm still a bit jet-lagged."

"Nobody special yet?"

"No," Robin said evenly. "But you know what I think about this line of questioning?" He sat forward, eyes narrowed. "I think-"

"What I think," Arthur said lazily, "Is that we better decide coz here comes our waitress,"

Their orders were identical; Porterhouse steaks, baked potatoes with butter, sour cream and chives.

"And an extra-large basket of fried onion rings," Robin added.

"Of course," David has said, his lips twitching. "Every meal should include a vegetable."

Two beers, an ale for Robin.

The waitress brought those right away, along with a bowl of cashews.

They all dug in, drank, munched, talked about guy stuff.

Robin started to relax.

Why had he reacted so negatively to a simple question? It did not make any sense.

Talk helped.

Every day stuff. Soccer, still going strong. Golf, coming up soon. Arthur's progress in remodeling the house and sprawling ranch that adjoined El Lago. David and his wife's search for a house and land of their own, and their baby on the way.

Their steaks arrived. They ordered more drinks. And just when Robin had almost decided he was home free, David and Arthur exchanged a look, laid their knives and forks on their plates, and Arthur said, "Something bothering you, mate?

Robin forced a smile.

"Not a thing. Something bothering you, mate?"

"Hey," Arthur said lightly, "watch yourself." He waggled his eyebrows. "I'm a trained investigator, remember?"

Robin laughed, just as he was supposed to do. He thought about playing dumb, tossing back a complete look of innocence and saying he had no idea what they were talking about, but you didn't grow up with the two guys who knew everything about you and lie to their faces.

Besides, until this moment, he had not realized how much last Friday night--correction, his reaction to last Friday night-- was gnawing at him.

Still, he didn't have to tell them all the details.

So he shrugged, put down his knife and fork too, blotted his mouth with his napkin, and said, "I met a woman."

"He met a woman." Arthur said to David.

"Wow, amazing. Our buddy here, the hotshot hedge fund manager, met a woman. So much for avoiding that question about his love life."

"I did not avoid anything," Robin said tersely. "This has nothing to do with love, and I have nothing to do with hedge funds. I run an investment firm, and why were you talking about me as if I'm not here?"

"Because the last time you were involved with a woman and would not talk about her was when you had that thing going with Marian."

Robin sat back, folded his arms over his chest.

"I was in college. She moved on. I moved on, And I was not 'involved' any more than I am 'involved' now."

"He protests too much," David said.

"What did I just say about that 'he's not here' routine? And I'm not protesting. There's nothing to protest." He'd meant it to make it all sound light but one glance at them and he knew it did not work. He took a breath, let it out and leaned over the table. "Look, it was nothing. See, I was minding my business in this place, way downtown..."

"What were you doing downtown?"

"Actually, it was your faults. Can you say 'faults'? Because it was. Last Friday night, you piss poor blokes couldn't make it and..."

What the bloody hell.

He told the story. Most of it. Some of it.

Finally, he got to the part he was still having trouble with.

"...and," he said, "then the door opened, this woman walked in, and she was-she was attractive."

"You mean, she was hot."

A muscle knotted in Robin's jaw.

"You could say that, yeah."

"And?"

"And I figured if I could convince the drooling wannabe jocks at the bar that I had been waiting for her to show up, everything would be fine."

"Drooling wannabe jocks," Arthur said dryly.

"What did I say? He has a way with words," David said, just as dryly.

"You want to hear this or not?"

"We wouldn't miss it for the world. Go on, a hot lady came strutting through the door--"

"She did not strut." Robin said sharply. "And she was, good-looking, not hot. Not the way you're trying to make it..." His words trailed away. They were looking at him as if he'd lost his mind.

What a load of bollocks, he thought and cleared his throat.

"So, anyway, I approached her, and I told her I had a problem and asked for help. And uh-after awhile, a little persuasion, she agreed."

"What did you do? Talk her into a coma?"

Robin was silent for a long, long minute. Then he sighed.

"I kissed her," he said in a low voice, because, bloody hell, maybe if he talked about it, he'd stop thinking about it. Thinking about her.

About Renée.

Arthur stared at him, "And she went along with it?"

"Yeah."

"Aha." David grinned. "Not just a hottie, but a hottie looking for a night's diversion."

Robin looked at him through narrowed eyes.

"I told, its not right to call her that."

David held up his hands. "Okay, sorry. A lady looking for a night's--"

"She'd walked into the wrong place, that's all." Robin said tightly.

"So, you were not just looking for her to get you out of there in once piece, you were going to protect her. What a knight in shining armor."

"Yes. No. Sod it!" Robin sat back, wrapped his hands around his half-empty mug of ale. "Look, lets drop it okay. I got into a crazy situation, and that's the end of it."

"Yeah, but I don't see how this played out," Arthur said.

"This wanker and his friends were on you because they figured you had been hitting on his woman. You said now, you were waiting for your date. This hottie-sorry. This lady walked in-"

"She had a name," Robin said, in a dangerously, quiet voice. "Renée."

David waggled his eyebrows. "Wow. Not just good-looking, is she French?"

"Better and better," Arthur said.

Robin opened his mouth, then quickly shut it. All at once, he did not want to talk about Friday night, not when it would involve giving away details that suddenly seem far too personal.

"Never mind."

"Never mind? Mate, you can't leave us hanging. We're married men. Happily married, I hasten to add, but still, there's no harm in living vicariously."

"And it was just getting interesting. There you were, in this piss, and bam! A woman walks in, you kiss her, she's warm and willing, and what? You took her home? Went to her place? Or maybe--"

"Enough," Robin snapped.

His tone was cold, hard and flat. They stared at him, then exchanged a quick glance. _What the bloody hell?_ That glance said, but they both knew the line between asking questions and expecting answers had been crossed.

"Right," Arthur said, after a few seconds. He cleared his throat. "So, um, did I tell you guys about this bloke with fabric samples? Mates, I swear he doesn't speak in any language I ever heard before. Batiste. Boucle. Brocade. And that's just the B's..."

David forced a laugh.

Arthur kept talking, and finally, Robin forced a laugh too. The waitress came by. They asked for refills on their drinks and talked some more...

And Robin, who had come out tonight for the express purpose of getting a woman he hardly knew, except in the most basic sense of the word, out of his head now realized he could not think about anything except her.

He held up his end of conversation. More or less. An occasional comment, a laugh when it was expected, but he wasn't really there.

He was in his penthouse, she was in his arms, her responses to his caresses, his kisses, his deep, incredible possession of her, so honest, so passionate, so thrilling, until he'd ruined everything by reacting like a selfish, piss, poor sod.

"Robin?"

He wanted to see her again.

Just--just to tell her he'd been wrong, that he shouldn't have said-

"Rob?"

He blinked. Focused his gaze on his friends. They were staring at him, concern etched into their faces.

"Jet lag," he said with a forced good humor. "What I need is coffee. A gallon of it, black and strong and..."

His words trailed off.

His heart thudded.

"Robin? You okay?"

The place had gotten crowded with people.

The bunch at the university party up front was still there. If anything, it had grown larger.

Two women, surely from that group, had just walked by. Save-the-something T-shirts. Real jeans. Leather sandals.

One woman had blond hair.

One had dark hair.

The one with the dark hair was stumbling. The other was supporting her. Arm around the waist, face a mix of concern and irritation.

"Robin? Mate, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, as the women disappeared into the rear bathroom.

It had to be nothing.

The woman who had been stumbling had looked just like Renée. Exactly like her.

Well, not exactly.

He hair was the same shade of dark but it wasn't loose, it hung down her back in a loose ponytail.

And, of course, she was not wearing a dress the size of a handkerchief, or shoes with heels high enough to give a man hot dreams.

So, it was not her.

It couldn't be her.

It was ridiculous even to think it was her.

The bathroom door swung open. The two women stepped through it. Robin got to his feet.

"Robin," Arthur said sharply, "what's going on?"

Bloody hell. It was her. Renée. Her face was drained of color and she had her hand pressed to her belly.

"For Pete's sake, Reg," the second woman said loudly. "Nobody gets sick on two margaritas!"

Robin dug out his wallet, tossed some bills on the table.

"I have to go," he said, never leaving his eyes never leaving Renée.

"Go where? Fuck's sake, mate! Talk to us!"

"I'll call you later," Robin said. "Don't worry, everything's fine."

"The hell it is," David said.

He started to rise, but David, who turned to watch Robin grabbed his arm.

"Let him go."

"Go where? Mate, what's happening?"

"Look."

David looked.

Robin had reached the women. He said something to the one with blond hair, gave him a quizzical look.

"You mean, with you?" she said.

Robin's response was loud and clear.

"Absolutely, with me," he said, his tone no longer of that guy who lived for the moment but, instead, that of the tough, take-no-prisoners fighter pilot he'd once been.

"Fine with me," the blonde said. She let go of the brunette, who swayed as  Robin scooped her off her feet.

"Whoa," Arthur said.

"Whoa, indeed." David said, because after a couple of seconds of struggle, the brunette blinked hard, looked up at him, and said, "Robin?"

"The one and only, my lady," Robin said grimly.

She looped her arms around his neck, buried her face against his throat. And he, jaw set, eyes as hard sapphire, carried her straight through the room and out the door.

 

***

 

Robin was driving his Corvette tonight, not his truck. He'd parked it a short way down the street.

He had not thought about it, one way or the other-until he walked out of the bar with Renée in his arms.

Now he figured out that having to walk a couple of minutes to get to the car was probably a good thing.

It would give him time to cool down.

He was beyond angry. He was livid.

What in the bloody hell was in this woman's head?

Didn't she have any sense of reason? Walking into that bar last week, dressed to raise the blood pressure of every man breathing, and now, this. Drinking herself senseless.

He didn't like rules, did not believe in worrying much over what social pundits liked or disliked, but he did have opinions-and one of them was that a woman out of control was not a pretty sight.

As for drunks...

He didn't like drunken prats in general but when a woman went that route...

His lady friends would say he was being sexist. Maybe he was, but that was how he felt.

And what if Renée had not gotten sick? What would have come next? Would she have let some guy pick her up, take her home? Touch her? Kiss her? Ease her thighs apart, bury himself in all that honeyed sweetness?

A couple walking toward them laughed.

"Very romantic," the woman said.

Robin glowered. If only they knew the truth. This was far from "romantic" as a man could get-and it was stupid.

What he was doing was bollocks.

He was not Renée's keeper. 

He should have left her with her friends. She was their problem, not his.

It wasn't too late, he could turn around, take her back to where he'd found her...

Renée moaned softly.  


Yeah, but she was pissing sick. Drunk, sure. But sick drunk made for a dangerous situation.

Two margaritas, her friend had said. 

Hardly enough to get sick on, but she was. The moans. The way she'd clutched her belly. Even the way she'd let him all but kidnap her said everything he needed to know.

She was sick. And she needed-

She needed him.

He'd known it when he heard her whisper is name, when she gave herself over to him, buried her face against his throat. She felt so soft and feminine in his arms. And that sense that she trusted him. Needed him...

He tried not to think about that, or the way it had made him feel.

It was a lot safer to concentrate on his anger.

"Bloody fool," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," she said in a shaky whisper.

He had not meant her to hear him, but maybe it was a good thing that she had.

"Yeah," he said coldly, "I'm sure you are. Somebody should have told you that what comes after the booze is never as much fun as the partying that precedes it."

She shook her head. Her hair slipped like silk across his jaw.

"I meant that I'm sorry for this. Not your problem."  


"Bloody right," he growled.

Regina expected nothing more.

She knew he wouldn't say she didn't have to apologize, that he was only glad he'd been there to help her...

_ Renée Mills, are you truly crazy? _

It was her alter-ego talking, but Regina refused to listen. She wasn't Renée, not anymore.  


Plus, she knew what Robin Locksley was like. Had she not learned all she needed to know last week?

Besides, he had every right to be harsh and judgmental. He thought she was drunk. How could he possibly know the truth, that she really was just, incredibly stupid. 

_ No alcohol with these pills, Regina.  _ The doctor had said. Sure, but what did doctors know? Not much, as the last months had surely proved.    


But the righteous Robin Locksley had no way of knowing that, and she wasn't about to enlighten him.

She had decided, from the beginning, to keep her own counsel, which was a fancy way of saying, it was her life and what was happening to her was her business, only. And she did not want anybody involved in it.

Her parents were gone. She had no brothers or sisters. The last thing she wanted were strangers, offering phony sympathy. She had her fill of that from well-meaning hospital volunteers. Or therapy groups, where everybody thought they had problems until they heard hers. 

She even tried private counseling, and what a joke it had become when the shrink had broken protocol, reached out and hugged her. 

Protocol.

There it was again, the same stupid word that had fallen from her lips last week, after a simple decision to-to take her research to another level that had led her into this man's arms, into letting herself feel like a woman, instead of-a creature drowning in a sea of test tubes and lab notes. 

And what a mistake that had turned out to be.

Her car was just ahead. Thank goodness. Another minute and she would never have to see Robin Locksley again. 

Regina gathered all her strength, told herself if it was vital that she not sound as awful as she felt.

"The black Mercedes," she said. "It's mine." 

He did not answer, did not even slow down. "Mr. Locksley, I said the black car..."

"I heard you."

"Then put me--"

"You can get it tomorrow, when you can drive."

"I have already had the pleasure of retrieving my car, thanks to you. I have no intention of doing it again."

"I don't think you want to argue over the reasons you had to leave your car, last week or this."

He was right. She didn't. What she had to do was exert control.

"I am perfectly capable of driving my own car."

Sick as she was, she was pleased to have achieved what she thought was a determined tone.

Perhaps not. 

He laughed, though it was not a pretty sound.

"A simple thank you, would suffice." He set her on her feet, held her steady with one arm around her waist while he dug out his keys and opened the Corvette's door. "Get in, my lady."

"Where's Tink? Tink can--"

"Tink is still partying with your friends. Go on, get in,"

"No. I absolutely refuse to have you--"

He muttered something short and graphic, scooped her up again and put her into the passenger seat. Then he closed the door, went to the driver's seat and got behind the wheel.

"Seat belt," she said sharply.

"Really, I don't--"

He reached across her, grabbed the end of the belt and brought it over her body. His hand brushed over her breasts. She thought of what it would be like if he really touched her, not in passion but in an offer of comfort.

"Comfort" was not in his game plan.

She could tell by the way he fastened the latch, his motions brisk and efficient. 

"What's your address?"

"I don't need your help, Mr. Locksley."

"Yes," he snarled, "you do. And its a little late for formality, isn't it? I wasn't 'Mr. Locksley' when you were in my bed.

A wave of hot color rose in her face.

_ Nice, _ Robin told himself, a truly nice touch. She did not deserved to be coddled but she was sick and he'd taken it upon himself to see her safely home.

Besides, he had no right to judge her. 

She had walked into a bar, looking for hookup?

Her business, not his.

She drank to excess? 

Her business again, absolutely not his. 

There was not any reason to make things worse than they already were, especially when his real anger had just reversed itself and gone from her as its target to himself. 

Touching her breasts had been inadvertent. 

And his body had not clenched with desire.

Desire, even with her like this, he would have understood.

What he had felt instead, the overwhelming need to take her in his arms and comfort her, was the last thing he expected. 

He did not understand it. Did not want to understand it.

What he wanted to do was to get her to her apartment and then get the bloody hell out of her life.

Whatever life that was.

Who was this woman? Everything about her confused him, even the way she looked... Entirely different from last week.

As far as he could tell, she did not have a touch of make-up on her face. Her hair was pulled back. She had a cotton blouse. Sleeveless, simple, buttons all the way down to the front. It was black, pretty much the same color as her vintage automobile. And she was wearing jeans. Plain, no-name denim, not the torn kind that costs hundred of bucks just so the wearer could look like somebody who actually worked for a living. Her feet were encased in flat, leather sandals.  


Nothing with the kind of heel that made a man play sexual fantasies in his head. 

Not that she needed to dress the part of a temptress. 

She was beautiful just as she was, and even knowing she seemed woefully short on logic and maybe on morals did not change the fact that he still wanted to hold her close and tell her he would take care of her...

He hated himself for it.

Jaw set, he fastened his seat belt and started the engine. The corvette roared to life.

"I'm still waiting for you to tell me where you live."

"This is ridiculous." She reached for the door handle. "I'll go back and get Tink. She can--"

"No. She can't. I'm driving you home and it's not up for discussion. Now what's your address?"

Regina closed her eyes.

If only she had not let Tink talk her into going out with most of the department to celebrate Belle finally nailing her doctorate. 

_ "Come on," Tink had said. "You've been mopey all week. A couple of hours away from the books will make you feel better." _

Maybe it would, she thought. So she had gone off with them.  


And she had not even ordered the margarita.

Belle had, and everybody looked at her when it arrived. She knew why, because she never drank, not even that staple of university life--beer.

_ Don't you drink, Regina?  _ someone always sad. Or, _Good for you! I've heard these 12 steps program are hard to stick with._

Either way, there was no good rejoinder.

She was tired of people looking at her, of always being the one who ordered a diet coke, or a Long Island Iced Tea - with no alcohol. 

One sip of the pale blue margarita, she thought. What harm could one sip do?

It had tasted lovely. And it had felt lovely. Not the alcohol. What had been lovely was that, for the first time in months, she felt normal.

To hell with it, she'd thought, and she gulped down half of it-half, not two full drinks as Tink had claimed. 

And yes, for a couple of minutes, she felt good. 

And she was desperate to feel good. 

To stop thinking about what lay ahead, and what it would be like.

To stop thinking about last week, and how she had made a fool of herself with this man.

This man who was every bit of gorgeous and as arrogant as she'd remembered. 

The truth was, she remembered too much. She felt too much.

The feel of his hands on her, the way he kissed, and wasn't that pitiful? That all of that should still be with her? 

That a man who was such an unmitigated asshole could be such an accomplished lover that a week later, despite the fact that she despised him, that she could not afford to waste precious time on such nonsensical stuff, the sight of him can still make her heart race?

If only he had not been in the bar tonight...

"Are we going to sit here all night?" her unwanted rescuer said. "Because we will, unless you give me your address." 

He would do it. Regina knew. The best thing to do was give in, let him drive her home, and know she would never have to deal with him again.

"I live near the university," she said in weary resignation. "Haight-Ashbury. On Frederick Street-"

"I can find it," he said.

She had no doubt that he could.

Besides, she had other things to think about.

Like not throwing up again, until she was alone-but oh dear God, that was not going to work out...

"Stop the car," she gasped. 

He glanced at her, then swerved across two lanes of traffic to the curb. She had barely undone her seat belt when he was out of the car and at her side.

"Easy," he said as he helped her onto the sidewalk. 

A cramp pinched in her belly and she groaned, leaned over and vomited, although the truth was, mostly, she just gagged and made terrible sounds because there was really nothing left in her belly, but that did not make things any terrible, especially because Robin Locksley, a world-class rat, stood behind her as if he weren't a rat at all, holding her shoulders and steadying her. 

Done. She trembled like a leaf. 

"Don't move," he said in a low voice.

She felt him lift one hand from her, then the other, as he slipped off his dark grey sports jacket, then wrapped it around her.

She wanted to tell him she didn't need it, it had to be ninety degrees tonight, but the truth was, she was ice-cold.

"Thank you," she said in a choked whisper. 

He turned her toward him, took a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket. She reached for it, but she was shaking too hard to grasp it. 

"Let me," he said.

She could hardly meet his eyes, as he gently wiped her mouth, afraid of the censure she'd see in his gaze.

"Hey," he said softly. He put his fingers under her chin and raised his face to his, and what he saw in his eyes was compassion.

It made her want to lean forward and rest her head against chest, but she knew better than that.

He was being kind. Not what she had expected from him. And the last thing she needed. Too much kindness and she would fall apart. 

"I'm fine."

He nodded. "You will be. Getting all the booze out of your system helps."

"It's not the tequila," she heard herself say, and could have bitten off her tongue, but he did not pick up on it.

Instead, he smiled. "It never is."  


She had nobody to turn to. Nobody but him.

The thought put a little twist in his gut.

Her face was pale; the elastic thing, whatever women called it, around her ponytail had come loose and strands of dark hair were in her eyes.

He tucked the strands behind her ears.

"Are you okay now?" he said quietly. 

She nodded.

He steadied her with one hand, reached into his car, opened the console, took out the small bottle of water. He opened it; she held out her hand but she was still trembling.

"Here," he said, bringing the bottle to her lips. 

She tilted her head back. Drank. Rinsed her mouth, then spat out the water.

"Thank you,"

"Finish it." 

"I really don't want-"

"Water will make you feel better."

He tilted the bottle to her lips again; she put her hand over his so she could lift it higher. His skin was warm, the feel of his fingers under hers reassuring.

He capped the empty bottle, tossed it into the back of the car.

"Do you want to stay here, have a bit more fresh air?" 

"No. I feel better now."

She could not bear the way he was looking at her, his eyes warm not only with compassion but sympathy. She could not tolerate anything close to pity; it was the reason why she left New England and come here, where nobody knew her.

"I'm sure." she stood a little straighter, "Look, I know you're afraid I'm going to get sick in your car,"

"I'm not worried about the car."

"Of course you are. Why else would you give a damn?"

Good. That cold glare was in his eye again. 

"You have one bloody hell of an opinion of me."

"It only matches your opinion of me."

He opened his mouth, closed it again.

"Okay," he said, after a minute, "how about a truce?"

Her eyes met his. She shrugged.

"Fine." 

He smiled. "Lots of enthusiasm in that word, Renée."

She took a deep breath. What did it matter what he called her. Yet, somehow, it did.

"My name is Regina."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why the pseudonym?"

She considered not answering, but she owed him some kind of honesty, even if it was only the smallest bit.

"I used a different name because, that was not me last Friday night, okay? That--that creature who got all dressed up, and headed into a bar. I was not that woman who went home with a strange man and--"

She felt her eyes fill with tears, and wasn't that pathetic? 

She looked away from him, or would have, but he caught her face in his hands, and wiped away her tears with this thumbs. 

"You were not a creature. You were-are a beautiful woman. Bold and audacious, too."

His voice was soft. She did not want softness. Damn it. She wanted him to be the callous bastard she had pegged him for. 

She did not want to like him. She did not want to need him. She could not need anybody. 

Not now. Not ever. Not--

"My lady," he said, softly but gently. It was too much, and she had to deal with it. 

"And don't call me that either." she jerked free of his hands. "So, if you think a-a ration of British sweet talk is going to make me dumb enough to sleep with you again--"

He let go of her, fast. So much for declaring a truce.

"Do us both a favor, Renée. Get back in the car so I can take you home now and know we will never have the misfortune to see each other again." He said, his eyes narrowed to icy blue slits. 

His comment had been no nastier than hers, but it hurt. She wanted to poof back her clever response, then walk away, but her brain was foggy, they were kilometers away from her apartment, and she knew damn well that on this particular night, walking home was not an option.

"An excellent plan, Mr. Locksley," she said coldly. "And thanks again for reminding me, that you are indeed, a callous, pluperfect rat."

It was not much, but it was the best she could do.

She swung away. A sharp pain lanced through her head; the earth tilted. She gave it a couple of seconds until things steadied. Then she got into his car.

He got on his side, slammed the door hard enough to make her jump.

The car flew into the night, and Regina prayed that the pain in her head would not get so bad that it would make her weep...  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for dorabellatrix who have always read this since the start and for feistyvagabond who had always been one of my fave ppl :) This is short forgive me, tease? lol/ I came from work, my mind reeling, so this is all I can manage. I promise a treat for next chap and longer one also. Again, no beta so all mistakes are mine. Again, comments, criticisms and reactions are very much welcome! :)

Neither of them said anything more until Robin turned onto her street, and into the garden apartment complex in which she lived.

The pain in her head had eased off. A minor miracle, but it would not last. She needed to take a pill before it returned.

"Which building?" he asked.

"You can stop at the corner."

"I can stop in front of your door. Which building?"

"You don't have to--"

"You're right, I don't. But I will. So for the last time, which building?"

God, he was impossible. Maybe some women liked to be bossed around but she was not one of them. Still, if it got her home faster...

"That one," she said, "at the corner."

He drove to the end of the block, then into the driveway that led to the building.

"What are you doing?"

He was pulling into a slot in the small parking area.

"I'm seeing you to your door," he said brusquely.

"That is absolutely not necessary."

She was talking to the air. He was out of the car, already opening her door.

Regina rolled her eyes and stepped outside.

"Do you always ignore people's wishes, Mr. Locksley?"

"Only when their wishes don't make sense, Miss...?"

"Mills." she snapped.

"Only when their wishes don't make sense, Miss Mills. Twenty minutes ago you chundered in the street."

"That's a horrible phrase!"

"It isn't as bad as the act, itself."

They were walking toward the back entrance to her two-story building. He tried to take her arm; she shook him off.

It was a stupid thing to do, considering that it was dark--one of the lights over the door had burned out, and the lot had potholes big enough to swallow you whole.

Inevitably, she stumbled.

Just as inevitably, he caught her, put his arm around her waist.

"I don't need--"

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Damn it, Locksley."

"Brilliant," he said tightly. "No more 'mister.' At least we'll be on a less formal basis before you go face down out here."

"I hate to spoil that lovely image but it won't happen. I'm much more better now, thank you very much, and you've brought me to my door, so--"

"Keys."

"What is wrong with you? Are you deaf? I just said--"

"I'm taking you to your apartment. Keys, please."

He held out his free hand, snapped his fingers--and was rewarded with the sight of her chin lifting and her eyes narrowing.

Damned if she did not look like she wanted to slug him.

He fought against a smile.

No matter what, you had to admire her spirit. All dressed up for a night in town, dressed down for a night with friends, sick or not, Regina Mills is one interesting woman.

She held the keys up by two fingers, gave him a four-letter smile and dropped them in his palm.

This time, what he fought back was a burst of laughter.

She had more than spirit; she had resiliency.

For some crazy reason, he wanted to kiss her, and that was pretty ridiculous. Instead, he did the only safe thing: turned his back to her and unlocked the door.

It opened on the kind of hallway he suspected was endemic to cheap student housing everywhere. A narrow corridor, dim lighting, closed doors.

Nothing unusual.

Still, a caution born of years spent on not-so-necessarily-friendly territory half a world away made him move forward and enter the hall first. A quick but effective glance revealed nothing more than a moth batting against an overhead light at the foot of a staircase.

He turned, ready to signal past him, but she was already moving.

Her body brushed his.

His breath nearly stopped. And unless he'd forgotten how to read women, so did hers.

Electricity filled the space between them.

He knew what he wanted to do.

To take Regina in his arms. Kiss her. Touch her. She'd let him do it, too. He knew it as surely as he knew what the look in her eyes meant...

How many bad ideas could a man have in one night?

He took a step back.

"Okay," he said briskly. "Which apartment?"

He wanted her to say it was on the second floor. Then he would have the excuse to hold her in his arms again, but she swallowed hard, dragged her gaze from his and nodded toward the nearest door.

They walked to it. The same key opened the door, and they stepped inside.

The place was like all the off-campus housing complexes he had visited back in university days.

Small. Institutionally-furnished. Nothing to define it as Regina's. except for a small plush animal sitting in the corner of the sofa.

It was a dog with long floppy ears. One long, floppy ear, anyway. The other pretty much gone, as he was most of a faded red bow around its neck.

It was the kind of sentimental keepsake Marian-his first love were big on. Somehow, he had not expected Regina to harbor such attachments.

"A silly thing."

Robin turned around. Regina was standing a few feet away, eyes fixed on him.

"The dog," she said. "I don't know why I keep it."

"It's not silly to keep something you love."

"I don't love it. Why would anybody love a beat-up old toy?"

Their eyes met.

She cleared her throat.

"I need to--"

She gestured toward what he figured was the bathroom.

"Yes. Sure." He cleared his throat. "I'll wait."

"No. I mean, you don't have to--"

"I'll wait here." he said.

She nodded.

Safely inside her bathroom, the door closed and locked, Regina stared at herself in the mirror.

She looked awful. Not that it mattered.

Robin had performed a rescue mission; what she looked like was unimportant.

She peed. Washed her face. Brushed her teeth. Took a pill for her headache, just in case it returned.

Then she took a few deep breaths, let them out, opened the door and went back to the living room.

He was standing beside then window.

Say something, she told herself, say anything!

"Great view of the parking lot, huh? she said briskly.

He turned around.

"Yeah." A quick smile, his dimples showing. "Well, are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine."

"Because if you still feel unwell--"

"Robin? What I said before, about it not being the tequila...Its the truth. I was not drunk."

She spoke the words in a rush, even as she chastised herself for having to say them.

"Look, I did not mean to... I should not have set myself up as judge and jury. You drank a bit too much. So what? Believe me, I would have done the same--"

"It was a reaction to medication."

"Medication?"

He looked startled, Regina's hear thudded. He could not be more startled than she was but somehow, it had become important that he not think worse of her than he already did.

"You mean, an allergic reaction?"

She took a deep breath.

"Not exactly. I get-headaches." That was certainly true enough. "I take something for them, and the doctor warned me, it would not mix well with liquor but-"

"You forgot."

She had not forgotten. She had just thought, _What the hell is the difference, anyway?_

Life was closing down so quickly... but she could not tell him that.

"Something like that," she said, trying for a carefree smile. 

He smiled, too. Her heartbeat quickened. She had almost forgotten how devastating his smile was: charming, flirtatious, sexy...and all Robin Locksley.

"Well,: he said, "after what had happened tonight, you won't forget next time."

They both laughed politely, but nothing in their eyes was polite. The way he was looking at her, the way she was looking at him...

She turned away and walked to the door.

He followed.

She looked at him, held out her hand. He took it.

His touch sent a wave of longing through her.

"Thank you... for taking me home."

"No," he said, "thank you."

"For what?"

"For tolerating me being such an arse."

"You were not. I mean, you had every reason to think I was just plain drunk."

"Even so, I had no right to judge you." His hand tightened around hers; he moved closer. "As for last week--"

"Really," she said quickly, "there's no need to--"

"There's every need. You gave me a gift beyond measure that night."

She felt her face flame with color.

"No. I understand. I burdened you with..."

"You honored me." His voice was rough, low and so sexy she could hardly breathe. "No woman's ever given me such incredible gift before."

He meant it. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his words. It made her want to explain...at least, to explain as much as she could.

"Robin," she said softly, "I know I made it sound as if, as if what we did--was just something that I had planned could happen with anybody. But--"

"But what?"

The rest was hard to say. To admit she did not want to embarrass him, or embarrass herself. But he had the right to hear it.

She took a deep breath.

"But one step inside that bar and I knew I would never get through with it. And then..."

His blue eyes turned a shade darker.

"And then?"

"And then I saw you."

"You were a miracle, coming through that door," he said softly. "I told myself the miracle was that you could save my sorry piss tail..." he cupped her face with his hands. "but the truth is, the miracle was that you were so beautiful. And that I wanted you the second I saw you."

Her smile, her sigh, told him everything he had spent the past week needing to know.

"Truly?" she said, all the innocence in the world in the one, softly-spoken word.

"Truly," he said. "I never wanted a woman the way I wanted you."

"What we did," she whispered, "it was..."

"Incredible," he whispered back, putting his arms around her, bending his head to hers, their foreheads touching, nuzzling her hair away from her face. "I thought about you every single minute since that night."

"Did you?" she said, her voice almost trembling.

"Every waking moment. That elusive, but satisfying smile, I think about-" he smiled. "even when I close my eyes." His smile tilted. "I dreamed about you."

Was he saying that to make her feel better, or did he mean it?

 _Stop analyzing,_ was the last thing her alter-ego said, before she sent it packing and moved fully into his embrace.

She could feel the hard, quick race of his heart.

He cupped her face. Lifted it to his.

"I don't want to leave you," he said gruffly.

Regina took a deep, deep breath.

"Then don't," she whispered.

Robin kissed her. Ever so softly. She kissed him back. He groaned, kissed her again, hard and deep.

Then he reached past her, and closed the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy ONCE is back!!!! IDC what they said but I love the premiere and I'm just glad to see Regina and Robin and their bbys Henry and Roland <3 Took me awhile to update coz life's been pretty hard lately and wifi at home sucked, but here it is :)

He wasn't going to make love to her.

What kind of a man took advantage of a woman when she didn't feel well?

He just-he just wanted to hold her.

Be with her.

Kiss her. Just a little. Like this. God, yes, like this. Kisses that made her tremble in his arms.

And he wanted to touch her.

Not in a way that demanded anything of her. Asked anything of her.

He only wanted to feel the softness of her hair as it slid through his fingers, the warmth of her skin under the stroke of his hands.

But with her lips clinging to his, parting to his, with her body pressed to his, wanting was rapidly giving way to the heady rush of need.

For the first time in his life, Robin saw the difference between the two.

He was a man who prided himself with self-control, even in sex. Especially sex. Only a fool let his emotions carry him away with a woman.

But it was different with her.

With Regina.

He could not get his thoughts together. Could not focus on anything but her taste, her heat, her sweet moans, her deep sighs.

He tried.

He clasped her shoulders. Drew back, just a little. Looked down into her lovely, beautiful face.

"Regina." His voice was hoarse; he cleared his throat but it didn't help. "We don't have to do anything more than-"

She rose to him, put her hands into his hair, silenced him with a kiss.

"Are you telling me you don't want me?" she whispered.

Robin took her hand, placed it over his beating heart, then brought it down, down to the fullness straining the fabric of his fly.

"What do you think?" he said thickly.

She gave a soft, incredible sexy laugh.

"I think, you need to take me into the bedroom. Behind you. Through that door."

He lifted her into his arms, carried her into a room that was hardly big enough to contain a chest of drawers. A nightstand.

And twin beds.

He almost laughed. Whatever he had expected, it had not been this.

"It could be worse," Regina said, as if she knew what he was thinking. He looked down at her, saw that her lips were curved. "The bedroom in my last place had bunk beds."

He did laugh, then; she did too. But when he felt the brush of her breasts and belly against him as he lowered her slowly to her feet, their laughter faded.

Her eyes were filled with need.

Filled with him.

Desire, sharp and hot, still burned with him.

But so was something else.

He wanted to-to take care of her. Protect her.

He wanted to be the lover he had not been that first time. The lover she deserved.

He kissed her. Gently. Framed her face with his big hands.

"I'm going to undress you," he said softly. "And lie down with you in my arms. We don't have to do anything more than that tonight."

When she parted her lips to answer him, he silenced her with a kiss.

Then, slowly, his eyes fixed to hers, he began undoing the buttons of her blouse.

Normally, he was fine with buttons. Small, round bits of plastic; how difficult opening them be, especially for a guy who had been undressing women since the age of sixteen?

Very difficult.

His fingers seemed to big. Clumsy. He found himself concentrating, hard, on every miserable one of what seemed like an endless line of tiny plastic rounds that marched down her blouse.

She made a little sound.

He looked up.

"What is it?" he said, a little gruffly.

"Nothing. I mean-I can't-" Her hands closed over his. "Tear the blouse, if you have to. Just-I want you to touch me."

One a deep, long groan, he did what she had asked and tore the delicate fabric in two.

Then he drew back. Not a lot. Just enough so that his eyes could take delight from the delicate beauty he uncovered.

Creamy shoulders. The rise of rounded breasts above a simple, white, cotton bra. He looked up, and saw a scar on her lips.

How could he have not noticed it after all this time?

He kissed her on that side of her lips. Then kissed the delicate curve of flesh rising above the bra. Kissed the center of each cup, where the faint pucker of fabric hinted at the nipples that awaited the touch of his tongue.

Regina made a sound that tore straight to him.

"Robin," she whispered, and he knew that no one had ever said his name with as much tenderness.

He reached for the clasp of her jeans. Undid it, took a hold of the zipper tab. Drew it down. Slowly, he eased the jeans down her legs. Such long, endless legs.She was trembling, bloody hell, so was he.

He slipped off her shoes, one at a time. Looked at her, so simple, she was a woman a man would ache to possess.

And bloody hell, yes, he ached. For her.

"You're stunning," he said softly.

Color swept into her face.

"I want to be," she said "For you."

That was what he wanted, too.That her beauty, her unique self, be only for him.

"Aren't you going to touch me?"

Her words were a magnificent torment. He wanted to do exactly that, wanted it more than anything...

He was drawn as tight as a bow.

He could see the pulse beating just beneath her heart.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes,"

"Take my hand," he said in a gravel-rough voice. "Show me where you want me to touch you."

He held his hand out to her, she stared at it. At him. He forced himself not to move.

It seemed an eternity but, at last, she took his hand. Brought it to her cheek. To her throat.

Her lips.

Parted them, and sucked one of his fingers into her mouth.

A low moan rose in his throat.

He was going to come. Bloody heavens, he was going to come...

He drew a harsh breath. Focused on her, felt the pounding in his veins ease.

"Where else shall I touch you?" he said in a choked whisper.

Her eyes locked with his. Dark brown met deep blue. She brought his hand down her throat.

To her breast.

Robin closed his eyes. Cupped his hand around the sweet weight, felt the push of the cotton-covered nipple into his palm.

"And here," she whispered, as she drew his hand over her ribs, over her belly.

And stopped.

She could not go any farther.

What she was doing was beyond anything she'd ever imagined doing with a man.

letting him touch her so intimately. Guiding his hand over her body. Watching his face as she did, seeing his skin seemed to tighten over the bones beneath it.

"Regina,"

She blinked.

His eyes narrowed and glittered like shards of sapphire in the night.

"Don't stop," he said. "Show me what you want."

She took a breath. Took another deep one.

"I want your hand here," she whispered, and she shifted her weight, brought his palm between her thighs, placed it against the part of her that throbbed with need for him.

He said something, low and fierce and shockingly primal.

She was hot and wet, and he could not wait, could not hold back, couldn't...

"Robin," she sobbed, "Please,"

"Regina," he whispered.

Somehow, he tore off his clothes. Reached out for his jacket and prayed there were some forgotten condoms in the interior pocket. Yes, there were two slim packets. Fumbled with her bra, got the clasp undone, tried to deal with her panties, cursed and instead, ripped them form her.

She was moving against him, her body hot against his, her mouth open and wet seeking on his.

All his thoughts about doing this slowly, gently, never mind maybe not doing it at all, vanished like a smoke on a windy morning.

The bed was a million miles away. The wall was much closer.

"Hold on to me," he said as he lifted her. "Your arms around my neck and your legs on my waist..."

She screamed his name as he thrust into her.

He went still; was he hurting her.

"Don't stop," she said. "don't-"

He took her mouth with his. And moved inside her. Hard. Fast. She screamed as she came and still, he went deeper, deeper, so deep that wen the triumphant cry of his release escaped his throat, the world spun away.

Somehow, they made it to the bed.

He put her down, kissed her, found his way to the bathroom and disposed of the condom.

The mattress was narrow; she made room for him, but he gathered her to him, held her so she was draped over him, and the fact that there wasn't really room for two people in her bed did not matter because he was never going to let go of her.

He was going to hold her like this until the end of time.

"Robin."

"Hmmm?"

"I'm too heavy."

He laughed. So did she.

It was a lovely feeling, all that rock-hard male muscle vibrating with laughter beneath her.

"Seriously. You can't be comforta-"

"You know, when I was a kid, I had this old blanket that I absolutely adored."

She folded her hands on his chest, propped her chin on them and gave him a wary look.

"And?"

"And," he said, his expression dead-serious. "I could not go to sleep unless I had it draped on top of me."

It took all her effort to keep a straight face.

"Nice. Very nice. So, I remind you of an old blanket?"

He grinned.

"Does it help if I say, it was a comforter, not a blanket?"

Regina sank her teeth lightly into his shoulder. He gave a mock yelp.

"That was a compliment."

"Telling a woman she reminds you of a blanket, even if you call it a comforter is not a compliment, Locksley."

"I did not tell it to any other woman. I told it to you." His grin faded.

"Only to you, Regina. Because you're the only woman I want in my arms. Like this."

"That's lovely," she said softly. "Because you're the only man I want in mine."

He kissed her. Kissed her again. She could feel him hardening against her and then he kissed her one last time, and gently moved out from under her.

"Don't go," she said, before she could call back the plea, but it was okay, saying it, letting him know how much she wanted him, it was fine because he kissed her again and told her, against her lips, against her smile, that he was not going anywhere except to get another condom.

"Why would I ever leave you" he said when he came back to her and rolled beneath him.

"Robin." His name trembled on her lips. "Oh, Robin..."

"Regina," he whispered, and then he was inside her.

****

She awoke to middle-of-the-night darkness, and to confusion.

She was in her bed, there was no mistaking the lumpy mattress, but she wasn't alone.

She was lying on her side, head pillowed on a hard shoulder. An equally hard arm and leg flung possessively over her body.

For a split second, her brain froze.

And then it all came back.

Robin, taking her out of that bar. His anger and then his concern. His toughness and then his tenderness.

His lovemaking. His amazing, incredible, glorious lovemaking.

 _I should get up,_ she thought. _Do whatever it is a woman does when she awakens with a man._

What did you do in those circumstances? You leave the bed, and what? Did you do just the basics? A bathroom visit? Fix your hair? Put on some makeup? Get dressed? Oh, absolutely. Get dressed, of course. Get out of the bedroom, give the guy some space.

All of that made sense.

Except, she really didn't want to move.

It was-well, it was lovely, just lying here. Robin's shoulder serving as her pillow, his arm and leg over her.

He was so warm, so solid.

So wonderfully real.

Sex was not what you read about in textbooks, what you heard about. It was-Robin.

He stirred in his sleep; his arm tightened around her and he drew her closer.

And this. Waking in a man's arms. The feeling of him caring about you, protecting you.

Who would have dreamed that too, was part of sex?

Research. That was what she'd called her plan to learn what sex was like, because calling it anything else had seemed ugly-but there was no pretending this was research any longer.

This was about him. Robin. A man she had picked up in a bar, who was now her lover.

For a heartbeat, surely no more than that, Regina gave in to the luxury of letting herself think of him that way. As her lover...

Pain knifed behind her eye, a brutal reminder of the truth and of where that truth would inevitably take her.

She clamped her lips together, biting back the cry that rose in her throat, but there was no stopping the pain. It was red-hot; it was ice-cold. It was worse than it had ever been.

She knew what would happen next. The chills. The shaking, the bits of her vision going gray.

She could not let that happen, not while Robin was here.

She bit her lips hard, anything to keep the agony at bay, to let her get away without waking him. She moved quickly, carefully, slipped out from under the shelter of his arm and leg.

He stirred again, mumbled something. She held her breath until he was quiet. Then she rose to her feet, stumbling a little, recovering fast, gritting her teeth against the agonizing throbbing inside her skull.

She wanted to find her robe but there was no time to look for it with the room buried in the blackness of the night. The last month, she had slept with a night-light, a foolish talisman against the dark that was coming for her, but it gave her comfort. She slept with the one-eared toy dog, too; for foolishly sentimental reasons, she had kept it all through her teen years. A gift when she was ten from her father. It had ended up being the one remnant of a time she had been whole and well.

Tonight of course, there was no light. And no toy dog.

Robin had been her talisman. Her comfort.

Carefully, she made her way to the bathroom. She eased the door shut behind her, felt for the shelf over the sink, danced her fingers along it, searching for the little bottle of tablets.

She didn't touch the light switch.

She knew from experience, that it would hurt her eyes. Besides, it would seep under the door and wake-

"No," she whispered, but it was too late. All of them fell, tumbling into the sink, the sound as loud and clear as if she'd come in here to play the cymbals.

The door flew open. The switch on the wall beside her clicked on; bright light flooded the room.

She flung her arms over her eyes.

"Regina," Robin said sharply, his voice rough with sleep. "are you all right, love?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

Robin stared at her.

Fine?

He'd been thrown off from horses just learning the feel of a man's weight; he had been ejected from a plane about to go down under enemy fire. He had been hauled through a public square by a squad of goons determined to make an example of a Caucasian pilot who represented everything they despised.

He understood what "fine" meant when it was spoken through tight lips, from a face white with pain.

"Bloody hell, you are," he growled.

Gently, he clasped her shoulders, then sat her on the closed toilet seat. There was a mess of pill bottles in the sink, plastic probably, but he checked her face, her hands, her body for blood.

Satisfied that she was not hurt, he clasped her wrist to draw her arm from her eyes...

"Don't!"

Her voice was high and sharp.

His heartbeat tripped into double-time. So much for not being hurt.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I told you, I'm-"

Robin cursed, gently drew her arm down.

Her eyes were tightly closed.

Okay.

No blood, no cuts, no bruises. But she was white as a paper, and shaking, and when he asked her to open her eyes so he could check them, she hissed out a long, low "nooo."

"Regina," he said, squatting down before her. "You have to talk to me. What happened? When I woke up, you were gona and then I heard a crash-"

"I had a headache." her voice seemed weak; it sent a chill down his spine. "So I came in here to get something for it."

"Why didn't you put on the light? Why won't you let me see your eyes?"

"I didn't think I would need it. I mean, I know where everything is. And my eyes..."

A soft moan broke from her throat.

Robin cursed himself for being an arse.

She was hurting; she probably scared herself half to death and instead of helping her, he was asking her a bunch of dumb questions.

"Okay, I get it. You have another headache, like the one you had earlier. And the light..."

The light. Of course.

A former P.A. suffered from migraines; she had told him about the unbearable pain, the way exposure to light made the pain worse.

It was clear that Regina had the same problem, and that she was having a bad attack.

He rose, switched off the light. He'd turned on the bedside lamp; its soft glow, coming through the open door, was enough for him to see by.

"Don't move," he said in a voice that commanded as much as it comforted.

Quickly, he scooped everything out of the sink-the vials and containers had all stayed closed-carried the stuff into the bedroom and dumped it on the dresser.

There were lots of labels; none of them bore names that were familiar.

"Which of these pills were you looking for?" he asked.

Regina told him.

He found the correct vial, shook a tablet into his hand and went back to her.

"One second,"

There was a white plastic cup on the sink. He filled it with water and squatted before her again.

"Take it," he said as he brought the pill to her lips.

"I can-"

"Have I told you I was a Cub Scout in my misguided youth?"

Her lips curved in a semblance of a smile.

"Come on, take the pill, and now drink some water..."

He returned the cup to the sink. Took a neatly-folded face cloth from the towel bar and ran it under a cold water from the tap, wrung it out and went back to her.

Her eyes were still closed, her face still pale. He took her hand, turned it up and placed the cool, damp cloth in her palm.

"Lay that over your eyes,"

"Robin, you don't have to-"

"I promise that I will do my best," he said solemnly. "To do my duty to God and to the Queen. To help other people.. you want me to go back to those words? But of course ours is different."

She gave a soft, tentative laugh. His heart leaped with joy.

"You? A Cub Scout?"

"Well, my best friend and my cousin had our own thing going on. _Talk,_ he told himself, as he saw color begin coming back to her face, _talk and keep talking, let her hang to the sound of your voice and maybe it will help her drive away the pain._ "Besides, Mr. Rottweiler, the troop leader hated us."

"His name was not Mr. Rottweiler!"

Good. Excellent, she was listening to him, concentrating on his stupid jokes. The pill, the compress, were working."

"How come you're so smart, Miss Mills? His name was Botwilder. Close enough, we figured."

"And he hated you?"

"Yeah, well, see, we had tipped over his outhouse..."

The breath hissed between her teeth. Robin felt his gut knot; he reached for her, lifted her carefully into his arms. She wound her arms around his neck, buried her face against his throat.

"Does anyone still have outhouses?"

"Ah, yes back at home in England, Rottweiler did," Robin said briskly, as he carried her into the bedroom. "He made his wife and nineteen kids use it."

Another soft, sweet laugh. Another wish to pump his fist in the air.

"Not nineteen," she said and yawned.

"Okay, not nineteen. Eighteen."

He switched off the table lamp. Dawn was breaking-the light in the room was pale grey.

Gently, he lay her down the narrow bed.

His heart turned over.

She was naked and beautiful, but what he saw as he drew the duvet over her, was her amazing combination of strength and vulnerability.

"Robin," she whispered.

"I'm here,"

"Thank..."

And then, she was asleep.

He watched her for a minute. Then he whispered, "You're welcome..."

He reached for his clothes, except he was not going anywhere. He is not going to leave her. She needed him.

An image shot to his head.

He, as a very little boy. Sick as bloody hell with something kids get, a virus, a cold, whatever. Waking in the middle of the night, wanting the comfort of a pair of loving arms, not anymore.

His mum had died, and his father was away saving the world.

Robin dropped the clothes, pulled back the duvet, climbed into the narrow bed.

Would taking Regina in his embrace, wake her?

He did not have to decide. She sighed in her sleep, rolled toward him, burrowed into him as if they had always slept together like this.

He wrapped her in his arms. Kissed her forehead. And fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

****

Sunlight blazed against Robin's eyelids.

He groaned, rolled into his belly. And almost fell off the bed.

His eyes flew open; his brain took survey. Narrow room. Narrow bed, narrow window. What in the bloody hell?

Then, he remembered.

Regina. Bringing her home, making love to her, how incredible it had been.

And hours later, she had been so ill. That migraine...

"Regina," he said, as he shot to his feet.

He had stayed the night to take care of her. Some job he had done! He had not heard her leave the bed, leave him. Where was she? Was she still hurting?

He started for the door.

For Pete's sake, he was naked.

"Clothes," he muttered, looking around the room for the stuff he discarded like a wild man last night.

There. On the dresser. A neatly folded stack of all his things.

He grabbed only his boxers, put them on. And went in search for her...

And found her in the minuscule kitchen, standing with her back to him. Her hair was loose; she had on some kind of oversize T-shirt. Her long legs were bare, as were her feet. She looked bed-rumpled. Sex-rumpled. And he wanted more than anything, to sweep her into his arms, take her back to bed.

That he wanted her so with such intensity, even after all the times he had her last night, made his words sound gruff.

"Damn it," he growled. "where did you go?"

She spun toward him. She had a mug in her hand; a dark liquid-coffee, by the welcome smell that permeated the room, sloshed over the rim.

"Robin! You startled-"

He crossed the floor in three quick steps and pulled her into his arms. The stuff was hot, but he didn't care.

"I thought something had happened to you."

"No. I'm fine. I just thought coffee would be a good-"

He kissed her.

She tasted of coffee, cream and sugar.

There had been times he had started mornings in Paris with champagne, in Seville with hot chocolate. But he had never begun the day with a sweeter flavor on his tongue than the taste of Regina's mouth.

When he finally lifted his head, her eyes were bright, her lips softly swollen.

"I missed you," he said, before he could think, "Waking up alone wasn't what I had in mind."

She smiled. And blushed.

He loved that blush. It was sexy and innocent at the same time, and made him wonder if he was the first man who had spent the night with her in his arms.

Just because he was the first man who had made love to her does not mean she hadn't done other things with other men.

Bloody hell. Where was he going with that line of thought? He keep reminding himself he was not old-fashioned with women and sex...

Except it seemed as if he was. About this woman, anyway, and about having sex with her.

About making love with her.

About staying the night in her bed and, come to think of it, how often had he done something like that? Truth was, he could probably count the number of times on the fingers of one hand.

Women tended to get the wrong idea when you spent the night. They read more into it that it deserved.

They way to keep expectations reasonable was to avoid certain trip wires.

Spending the entire night in your lover's bed was one sure trip wire-and why was he thinking of Regina as his lover? He had spent two nights with her. That hardly made them "lovers".

Suddenly, the kitchen seemed even smaller than it actually was.

He let go of her, cleared his throat and moved past her to a shelf above the stove where coffee mugs hung from little hooks.

"Great idea," he said briskly. "Making coffee, I mean."

He could feel her looking at him as he filled the mug and added a dollop of cream.

"Yes," she said, after a couple of seconds. "I'm no good at all until I get my morning dose of caffeine."

"Hmm. Same here." There was a teaspoon on the counter. He picked it up, stirred his coffee-but how long could a man take to stir his coffee? "So" he said, even more briskly, "you're an early riser, huh?"

"You don't have to do this."

Her voice was low. Something in it made him wince.

"Hey," he said, "why would I turn down a cup of-"

"You don't have to stay. Really. It isn't necessary. I mean, what you did last night-taking care of me, tending to me, that was much more than-"

"You were sick."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean-"

He put down the mug and turned toward her. Forget bed-rumpled. Forget sexy. She looked small and fragile and all at once, he hated himself for being such a selfish, unfeeling sod.

"Come here," he said gruffly, although he was already moving toward her, his arms open.

She went straight to his embrace.

"I'm sorry," she said unsteadily. "I'm not very good at this. I'm guess I'm not good at it, at all. I don't know what I'm supposed to say after-"

Robin out his hand under her chin, and raised her face to his.

"How about 'Good morning, Robin. Are you as glad to see me as I am to see you?"

"Are you? Glad to see me? Because really, if you just want to leave-"

He silenced her with a kiss.

"Confession time," he said softly. "I'm not sure of what to say either. I don't usually-" He cleared his throat.

"Spend the entire night in a bed that isn't my own, its not something I do very often..."

He watched her trying to make sense of what he had said, saw her eyes widen when she did.

"Oh," she said.

And blushed.

Bloody hell, that blush!

"Well," she said quickly. "you were kind to do it. I mean to stay because I-"

"I stayed because I hated the thought of leaving you."

Her lips curved in a smile.

"There it is, that smile, I keep thinking about even when I close my eyes."

What could he possibly do except to kiss that smile, and kiss it again, when she sighed, put her hands on his chest and rose toward him.

He wanted to undress her. Touch her. Kiss her everywhere.

But she had been so sick last night, she needed coffee. Food. Not sex.

He wanted to make love to her...

Robin clasped her shoulders, ended the kiss, flashed a quick smile.

"Okay," he said, yes, briskly, and if there was word that went beyond "briskly," he needed it now. "Time for breakfast."

Her lashes rose. There was a blurred, dreamy look in her eyes.

"To hell with breakfast," he growled, and he drew her against him, and kissed her again and again, each kiss deeper, more demanding than the last until she was clinging to him for support, leaning into him, her hands twisted in his hair.

"I want you," against her mouth.

"That's good," she whispered. "Because I want you too."

His body, already hard, felt as if it might be turning to stone.

"Your headache..."

She gave a sexy little laugh.

"What headache?" she said, and lifted her up and carried her back to bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to have this out as soon as The Price ep also went out but I got distracted by watching too much OQ heehee. And jsyk I intended to write Regina off here as the one who still believes in hope and the Regina who still believes she can find her soulmate, the Regina who could have chosen her soulmate over evil :")

A couple of hours later, they were in his car, on their way to breakfast.

Well, to brunch.

When she said she could not go with him, that she had to go get her car, he phoned the mechanic who worked with him on his Corvette when it needed something, and asked him to stop by for her car keys.

She stayed in the bedroom when the guy showed up but she heard Robin describe her vintage, if honorable, vehicle.

"A black two-door?" she heard the guy said with disbelief, and Robin had said, in solemn tones, that spending half an hour driving it would be good for the guy's soul.

He'd come back to her, still chuckling.

Just remembering it made her smile.

Now she glanced at him from under the curve of her lashes.

They had completely missed the hours when most people had breakfast.

Instead, they had spend the time in each others arms.

And it had been wonderful.

At one point, when she sobbed his name and begged him to end the beautiful torment, he clasped her wrists, drawn her arms over her head and said - in a sexy growl that had only added to her excitement--that he was never going to end it, that he was going to keep her where she was, on the edge of that high, high precipice...

Even thinking about it made her a little breathless.

Was sex like this for everyone?

She knew it was not.

The books said sex was different for all couples but she would have know that anyway, because sex with Robin was--it was00

Really, there weren't any words to describe it.

She had gone looking for sex.

For the experience of it, because, because time was closing down around her and she could not let that happen without knowing what life had not yet shown her, because sex was supposed to be such a powerful part of your existence.

But she had not expected this.

The passion? The excitement?

Yes, yes, and yes.

But the reality was...

Beyond description. Especially the wonder of those last few minutes when you felt--you felt as if you were drowning in sensation.

And the rest.

The way you reacted to your lover's voice. His strength. His tenderness. The feel of his body under your hand, its taste on your mouth.

There was more. Much more, and some of it did not have a thing to do with sex. Like, Robin's smile, his dimples curving when he does, his blue eyes sparkling and turning to deep dark blue in desire, or his easy laughter, his mischievous grin.

Even the way he took control of things.

Of her.

She had always thought that kind of behavior was male arrogance, and yes, her lover had an arrogance to him, but it was not born out of pride or ego, or aggression, it was born out of innate ability to lead.

Regina glanced at him again.

Added to all of that, he was beautiful.

She loved watching him.a

He did everything with self-assurance. He even drove that way, as he was right now, his attention to the road, his hand light on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift....

On her hand, lying just beneath his.

What if she had not stopped at that awful bar a week ago? What if Robin had not been there? What if she had not gone along the game he initiated?

What if she had let fearless Renée morph back into the cautious Regina, the Regina who had not understood how quickly life could change?

Most of all...

Most of all, what if the years still stretched a having head of her, bright and golden in clarity? What if she was like everyone else, able to reach out and take what she wanted without having to stop and remind herself that she had no right to do so?

Anger flared within her.

And she could not afford that anger.

It was too devastating. Too crippling. It stole what little remained of moments and hours and days that might still be filled with happiness.

She had learned that the hard way.

One minute, you were looking into a future of clear skies and bright promise...and the next, the clouds had covered the sun and the future was looking at you, sneering, saying, _Okay, lady. Here I am, this is the way it's really going to be and what are you going to do about it?_

Crumple, had been her first reaction.

But then, her alter-ego, for lack of a better term--and what better term would someone who had taken that double major in psychology and sociology come up with-her alter-ego had said, _Damn it, stand up and fight!_

It did not change the end game, but it changed the way you got there, head bowed or head high...

"Hey,"

They had pulled to the curb outside a restaurant. Robin was watching her, his blue eyes dark and narrowed.

"Hey yourself," she said, with what she hoped was a smile.

"Are you all right?'

"I'm fine!" she said brightly. Too brightly, perhaps, going by the intensity of his gaze.

"Tell me the truth, is that migraine back?"

"No, I'm good. Really."

He looked at her for a long minute. Then he flashed that sexy smile, the one that seemed to melt her bones.

"Except when you're bad," he said huskily, "and you're perfect, either way."

She blushed.

He grinned.

"I love it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"The way you blush." He undid his seat belt, leaned it, undid hers and took her lips in a soft, sweet kiss.  
"It's one of a bloody hell of a turn-on."

She blushed even harder, This time, his smile was wicked,

"Keep that up, we're not going to get into the restaurant."

He was right. They wouldn't. If he smiled that way again, kissed her again...

"Regina," he said, his voice lowered, because what he was thinking was probably right in her eyes.

What she was feeling was probably only a heartbeat behind, and she could not let him see that because it was impossibly out of question, it was not what he signed on for, and oh God, it was far, far more than she had ever considered,

"You going to feed me, Locksley?" she said, reaching for the door handle, laughing in a way that she hoped did not sound phony to him, as it did to her. "Or let me swoon away from hunger right here, in your car, with everybody in the City, walking by?"

"The only swooning I want you doing is the kind that happens when I take you in my arms," he said.

But he was not laughing.

Neither was she.

They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.

Then, Robin cleared his throat, stepped out of the car, and the world began moving again...

 

*****

She ordered yogurt and fresh fruit.

He ordered pancakes, bacon and eggs.

"The menu says they only use certified, humane, free-range eggs," she said, after the waitress had brought the orange juice.

Robin raised an eyebrow.

"And that's good, right?"

She nodded. "Absolutely. Did you ever see any of the documentaries about how chickens were raised?"

"No," he said quickly. From the look on her face, he was happy he had not.

"Back home--"

"Where's that?"

"Maine."

"Ah. I thought I heard a touch of New England in that accent of yours."

She wrinkled her nose.

"You're the one with the accent, Mr. British, not me."

He grinned. "Anyway, back home...?"

"I spent part of a summer working at an egg farm." Her smile faded; a little shudder went through her. "Farm turned out to be the wrong way to describe it. It was an eye opener."

He had never thought about it before. Now he did.

"Yes," he said. "I'll bet."

Their meal arrived, her bowl of yogurt heaped with big, shiny strawberries. He watched as she plucked one from the heap, brought it to her lips and bit into it.

Crimson juice ran down her chin. She got to it, fast, with her napkin.

He thought about how he could have got to it faster, with his tongue.

Not a bloody good thing to think about in a public place.

"So," he said quickly, shifting a little in the leather booth, "is that why you're such an early riser?"

She looked at him blankly, and why wouldn't she? Talk about non-sequiturs... but it was the best he could at the spur of the moment.

"You were up with the sun this morning."

"Oh," She smiled. "It has nothing to do with chickens. It's academia." Her smile became a chuckle at the look on his face. "I have three early classes a week. I'm a T.A. A teaching-"

"A teaching assistant."

"Yes. It's a grad course. The Psychology of Male-Female Relationship Patterns."

Robin nodded. Male-female relationships. He could almost feel his appetite fading.

"Must be-"

"Deadly dull."

His eyebrows rose. She laughed.

"I know I shouldn't say that, but it is." She brought the teaspoon to her mouth. "And what do you..." Her face pinkened.

"What?" he said, his eyes to the spoon, imagining what the coolness of the yogurt would be like in the warmth of her mouth.

"I only just realized...I don't know anything about you."

"You know everything about me," he said in a low voice.

"Everything that matters.

"No. Seriously. If you and I--"

"Regina." His gaze went from the spoonful of creamy yogurt to her rosy lips. "Save me here, will you? Put that yogurt in your mouth so I can stop working a bloody sweat thinking about it."

"Thinking...?"

Sod it. What a mistake to have told her that. She was blushing again. He had made love to her enough to know her chest and breasts turned that same rose-petal pink when she had an orgasm, when his lovemaking caused her orgasm...

"Do it fast," he said hoarsely.

She put the spoon down.

"Robin. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like--" she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "Tell me, about yourself."

He grinned. "Change in conversation, eh?"

"Absolutely. Come one. Tell me about Robin Locksley."

"There's not much to tell."

Regina rolled her eyes. You don't really think I'll fall for that 'I'm sorry Miladay, I'm just an arrogant bastard but deep inside romantic kind British swooner.' do you?"

He burst out laughing.

"Talk about accents... is that really how we sound?"

"Some of them." She smiled. "When did you move here in the U.S.?"

He put his knife and fork across his plate, pushed it aside, reached for his coffee. "I was just supposed to study college here. Then I permanently moved. My family was originally from Oxford, England. We had a ranch there."

"Are you ranchers?"

"We have a place there. Called El Lago."

"The Lake."

Somehow or the other, that she knew what the words meant to pleased him.

"Yes. Do you know Spanish?"

"I had two years of it in high school."

"Ah."

"Plus two years of German. My father said, if I was going into science, it was a good idea to know German."

Robin cocked his head. "The Psychology of Male-Female Relationship Patterns is science?"

"Yes. No. I mean, there's this whole controversy, whether psych and sociology are sciences or not..." She made a face. "Robin, you're trying to change the subject."

He sat back, sighed, and drank some coffee.

"Okay. I was born in west of Oxford. I grew up in El Lago. My ancestors called it as that because we have a beautiful lake out there. I liked ranching well enough, riding horses but math always fascinated me..."

He paused. Math? How come he was telling her that? Women had made it clear that "math" was not sexy. Being a finance guy, an investor was.

"Math," she said. "If only I had known you in high school." She smiled. "I would have flunked calculus if it had not been for Mary Jane Dexter."

Robin tried not to smile. She was full of information, his Regina; all you had to do was find the right button and out it came.

"Mary Jane Dexter?"

"A girl I knew. See, we did a trade. I coached her in English Lit. She coached me in Calc."

"Sounds like a bit of a good deal, all around."

"It was." She sat back in the booth. "But you're not a math professor. Not with that car and condo."

"No. Well, for a while I was in the Air Force."

"Really?"

He nodded. "I flew planes. Jets." Her eyes widened. "Fighter jets." he added, watching her face.

Bloody hell, he was boasting. He knew the effect that bit of news had on women; if their eyes glazed over the thought of a guy doing math, they positively glowed on hearing a guy was a jet jockey-and wasn't that pathetic? That he wanted to impress her?

"Did you serve the war?"

He nodded, all his boasting forgotten.

"Yes."

"That must have been hard. Seeing things. Doing things..."

Her voice was low. Her eyes said she understood that flying a fighter jet in battle left a man with memories that were not entirely pleasant.

"Yes. Sometimes, it was."

"But other times, it must have been wonderful."

He smiled. It occurred to him that it was a long time since he had thought about that part of it.

"What's it like? To soar over the world?"

"Well," he said...

And he told her.

About the sense of freedom. The joy. About the sight from the earth, far below. About the first time he had taken the controls from his instructor.

"It was not a fighter jet, it was a crop duster. See, I loved planes, even when I was a kid. And this guy used to work for us-"

"For El Lago?"

She had remembered the name of the place he still thought as home. For some reason, that pleased him.

"Exactly. He taught me how to fly, and then I worked like crazy all one summer on another ranch, earning enough money so I could pay for real lessons..." he paused. "I'm talking too much."

"No. Oh, no! I love hearing about you as a little boy. I can almost picture you, dirty boots and dirty jeans-"

Robin laughed.

"Bumps, bruises and dirt. That was me. And my best friend and cousin too, they're like brothers to me. My mum used to say we were the reason why band-aid was invented..."

His words trailed away.

He had told Regina more about himself in ten minutes than he had ever told anyone in a lifetime.

"It must be nice to have brothers growing up, I mean your best friend and cousin."

He cleared his throat.

"Don't let them hear me admit it," he said with a kind of grin that made it clear he was joking, "but they're great blokes."

"Did they go into the Air Force too?"

"David, my best friend went into some government agency he can only tell you about if he kills you after," She laughed; he took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Arthur, my cousin went into the Army. He flew combat helicopters." His smile tilted. "He was wounded. Badly. And, for a while, he lost his way..." He paused. "I--I guess I kind of lost mine too."

His own admission stunned him.

He had never said anything like that, not even to David or Arthur...but it was true.

He had always been into risk: high stakes poker had given him money to start his investment business, but the risks that came of being part of a war nobody could quite get their heads around had affected him.

Coming home and putting everything on the line-all his considerable winnings, his reputation, his mathematical ability-had been, in some dark, crazed way, a means of taking control of his life.

Risk everything, win everything.

All you had to be sure of was whether or not the risk was worth taking...

"Robin?"

Regina's voice was soft.

All at once, he felt as if every risk he had ever taken had been nothing compared to this...

"Yes," He cleared his throat, searched blindly for a way to change the subject.

"Tell me about you."

"There's not a lot to tell," she said, lying so easily it terrified her. "As I said I came from a small town in Maine. No brothers, no sisters."

"I have half sisters, or step sisters. My father married again and moved here permanently. I lost my mum when I was a wee kid."

"It's hard, losing your parents." Regina paused. "Mine died in a car crash when I was eighteen."

Robin wrapped both her hands in his.

"Leaving you alone?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "Tell me about your father."

There was more to her story; he was certain of it, but if she needed to change the subject, he will let her.

"Ah." Robin waggled his eyebrows. "The old man was a Lieutenant General back at home. My step mum was an American, and worked in the government so he joined the military here too when he moved here."

"Oh, boy."

"Oh, boy indeed. You can't imagine what it's like, growing up under the eye of somebody who thinks he's perfect."

Regina smiled. "Actually I can. My mother always wanted the best for me, she always wanted me to be perfect too. She was also overprotective, with me being the only child." She sighed. "And when I said I wanted to go into psych and sociology-"

"I bet that went over about as well when I said I was leaving the military to start my own investment firm."

"Exactly. I might as well have said I wanted to, I don't know, to play in a sandbox for the rest of my life."

"But you're happy, doing-" he grinned "-doing whatever it is you do,"

Regina laughed.

"I teach. Well, I will teach..."

Her smile, so lovely and wide, faded. Darkness filled her eyes.

"Regina? What is it?"

"Nothing." she said. "Nothing at all."

"Is it your headache? Is it back?"

"No." she blinked, smiled, but he could see tears glittering in her eyes. "I'm fine. Really. Absolutely fine."

He moved fast, leaned over the table, all but pulled her into his arms.

"Yes," he said gruffly. "you are," and when her tears began spilling down her cheeks, he took out his wallet, tossed a stack of bills on the table and did the only thing a man standing on the edge of a cliff could do.

He took her out of the restaurant, took her home to his place, where he held her in his arms, and made love to her until the tears she wept were tears of joy.

****

He wanted her to spend the night with him.

She said that she couldn't.

"I have to go home," she said as she lay in his arms in a lounger on the terrace.

"It's almost midnight. That means it's almost Sunday, and Sunday's a day when nobody has to do anything.

She laughed. "You make that sound so logical."

"It is logical. Would a mathematician say anything that wasn't?"

"You're an investment banker, Robin Locksley. You play the stock market. What's logical about that?"

Robin clapped his hand to his heart.

"You wound me, milady."

Regina laughed. "Seriously, I have to go home."

"Why?" he said, trying to make light of it because she had no way of knowing he hardly ever asked a woman to spend the night in his bed-and he was still amazed that having her do that was what he wanted. He kissed the tip of her nose. "Have to feed the cat?"

"I wish," she said, a little wistfully.

"You like cats, huh?"

"I like animals. But-"

"But?"

"But I never had one. Mother said pets would make a mess. And when I went away to college, you couldn't have pets in the dorm."

Robin thought of the big mutt he had found wandering on campus on his freshman year, and brought back to his dorm suite.

_"Dogs are not allowed," the R.A. had said with authority._

_"Right," Robin had replied...and moved the dog into his room for the rest of the semester, when he'd taken him overseas at their home in the ranch._

But Regina would not have done that.

She was a good girl, and good girls did not break the rules...

_Except for the one about walking into a bar to pick up a guy and hand over your virginity._

Why? Why had she done something so out of character? Because now that he knew her, he could not imagine she would have ever done such a thing.

There had to be a reason.

She was keeping a part of herself a secret. He knew it. And it worried him.

"Robin," she said softly, lifting her head from his shoulder and smiling at him. "You look so serious. What is it?"

He smiled back at her.

"I'm trying to come up with some brilliantly creative reason that will convince you to stay."

She wanted to. Desperately. Hours had gone by since the headache and it might not return for even more hours. Still, if it did...

 _You need to keep your meds with you, Regina,_ the doctor had said, but carrying around a container of tablets and capsules would be a constant reminder of - of what was happening to her, and she was not ready for that.

Not yet.

He brushed his lips lightly over her hers. His beard tickling her.

"Now, who's looking serious?"

Regina forced a smile.

"I'm thinking."

"A dangerous habit-unless you're thinking of changing your mind about leaving me."

As well of emotion rose inside her.

She did not want to leave him. Not ever. How could you leave a  man like this?

He kissed her, slid his hand under the shirt he had given her to wear. She caught her breath as she stroked her nipples.

"Robin-"

"I'm just helping you come up with a reason to stay."

She laughed.

"You're a bad influence on me," she said, but it was not true. He was a wonderful influence. In all her life, she had never been this happy, so alive since Daniel...

Tears welled swiftly, dangerously in her eyes. She tried to bury her face against him before he could see them but she was not quick enough.

"What is it?"

"Allergies," she said brightly. "Nothing to worry about."

And, really, there was nothing to worry about, because what was the point? She could not change fate, could not change her life...

Could not change what was happening in her heart, each time Robin kissed her, or touched her, or said her name.

"Stay with me," he said in a whisper.

 _Do what your heart tells you,_ her alter-ego whispered back.

And what it told her was, to stay...

In the morning, when he staggered into the john, eyes half closed because it was Sunday, and surely there was a law against fully waking up early on Sundays, Robin finished what he'd gone into the bathroom to do, flushed the toilet, washed his hands, reached for a face towel and came up, instead with something small and silken.

His eyes flew open.

It was a pair of white panties.

Regina's.

Evidently, she rinsed them last night and left them to dry.

Robin looked at them. So honest. So simple.

So Regina.

A funny feeling swept over him.

Among the few women who had ever spent the night, a couple had left things on the vanity. A compact. A lipstick. He was not an overly fastidious man but seeing those things in what was his space had irritated him no end.

Seeing Regina's panties on his towel rack sent a warmth through his veins.

He liked seeing them there.

He liked seeing her in his bed.

And he was old enough, wise enough, to know that liking those things could be dangerous to man's stability and sanity.

Okay, time for her to leave. She had stayed the night. They had made love when they'd first gone to bed, then during the night.

He'd give her a cup of coffee, drive her home. Phone her in a few days, ask her to dinner, to a movie, whatever.

It was a good plan, but it fell apart as soon as he went back into the bedroom and saw her.

She had just come awake; her eyes were sleepy looking, her hair was mussed, and when she saw him, she smiled.

"Good morning," she said softly.

"Look who finally woken up," he said.

"Sorry for waking up late, but I think that was the best sleep I've had in years," she said with a smile.

"Well, I'm glad you did have a good sleep," he said, and he took her in his arms, and kissed her smile, and she returned the kiss with such tenderness that he could have sworn he felt his heart swell...

****

They spent the morning reading the papers, eating omelets Robin made. Regina rolled her eyes when she unearthed half a dozen eggs, helped him prepare, and she found a pint of cream, four English muffins, a stick of butter and the biggest find of all, a chunk of still-usable Gruyère to add to the eggs.

 

There was other stuff too: a bunch of little white card-board containers Robin might have contained left over take out food.

"Unless it's take out Chinese," he said apologetically.

"Hard to tell, I guess."

"Yuck," she said dumping the containers in the trash.

"Hey," Robin said, his hand on his heart, "what can I tell you? Cooking isn't my thing."

"And you were the one who offered to cook me breakfast." she replied.

He grinned, his dimples showing.

Thankfully, it seemed that coffee was.

He had two pounds of Kona beans in the freeze, a grinder in the cupboard and a pot with more dials and buttons on it, than Regina had ever seen in her life.

She rolled her eyes again but admitted he got points for not completely destroying her faith in starting the day right.

Robin grinned again, came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and lightly bit the nape of her neck.

"I thought what we did a little while ago definitely started the day right."

"Behave yourself," she said sternly, but she leaned back against him and tilted her head up for a kiss.

After breakfast, they showered again. His shower was big enough for a dozen people, she said, and he gave a mock growl, tool her in his arms and said he would fight off anybody foolish enough to try to share the shower with them because she strictly belonged to him.

He meant the words as a joke.

But once he had said them, he stopped smiling. Regina did, too.

"Strictly to me," he said gruffly, and he made love to her against the glass wall, beneath the kiss of the warm spray.

He wanted to take her out.

Well, what he really wanted was, to take her to bed, again, but he knew how much he would love walking down the street with her beside him.

He thought about the things the women in his past had liked to do.

Did she want to go window-shopping? She wrinkled her nose. Stroll through the flea market? Another wrinkle of that cute little nose. How about a walk in the park? A drive?

She chewed on her lip.

"What?" he asked.

She hesitated. "I don't suppose...I mean, I heard a couple of other T.A.'s talking...No. Never mind. It's silly. A drive would be-"

"Nothing is silly, if it makes you happy." Robin took her hand, and brought it to his lips. What did she want to do? Go see some chick flick, probably. Well, fine. Not fun but he could surely survive-

"Six Flags," she blurted.

For a second or two, he was lost.

"Six flags of what?" he blinked. "You mean the amusement park?"

She nodded. Her eyes were round and bright.

"Could we?"

Robin grinned, put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a loud, smacking kiss.

"A woman after my own heart!"

"Oh my," Regina kept saying, as they strolled through the park, hand in hand.

Everything made her squeal with delight. The grilled turkey legs. The funnel cakes. The giant hot dogs.

And the rides.

They drew her like a candy store drew kids.

"Can we watch?" she kept saying, and Robin would say sure, of course, and while she watched the rides, and the riders, he watched her.

Was it possible this was all new to her?

"Regina," he said as he stood, head tilted back, mouth forming a perfect "O," her fingernails digging into his hand as terrified people shrieked and screamed with delight while plummeting earthward on a ship ride, "haven't you ever been to a place like this before?"

She shook her head, but her eyes stayed away locked to the Ark.

"No."

"Little parks only? Okay. Maybe there isn't anything like this in Mai-"

"My mother did not approve of amusement parks."

Her mother. Who had been upset because she did not want to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or an accountant.

"Well, how about local fairs? You know, Ferris wheels. Old-fashioned roller coasters."

Regina shook her head.

"Not those, either. My mother was very protective remember?"

"I see." he said, trying to imagine how it must have been for her to grow up in such a closed-off world.

"She meant well," she said quickly, because his 'I see' had dripped with meaning. "But she was always, you know careful I did not do anything that might be dangerous, or you know, risky or-"

"What I know," Robin said gently, drawing her into the curve of his arm, "is that she wanted to protect you."

She nodded. "Exactly, but-"

"But," he said smiling, trying to make light of what she had missed, "life is short."

She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly dark brown with something he could not read.

"Yes. It is. And when I realized that, I knew there were so many things I'd never done, that I wanted to know about..."

Like making love.

She did not say it.

He did.

And when he did, she nodded.

"I wanted to know about sex," she said in a low voice. "My first love died young. He wanted us to do it that night after our high school prom, but I was too scared to do so, because my mother did not even know I already had a boyfriend. If I could just-but I learned now, was making love. And it would have been making love it I had not found-" her words stumbled to a halt. "Oh, God! Robin. I did not mean that the way it sounded. Please, I swear, I'm not trying to-"

He took her in his arms and kissed her.

It was either that or say something he could not imagine saying to a woman a week ago, something he had never imagined saying to a woman ever, or at least not for maybe the next hundred years.

Something that made no sense, he told himself, but as she melted against him, he knew that nothing had made sense since that night she had walked into that bar.

Nothing-except the sweet, sweet joy he felt, holding his Regina in his arms...

After a while, he figured she was happy just looking at everything.

Logical.

For a girl who had never so much as ridden a Ferris Wheel, going on one of the park's big rides would surely be daunting. That was fine with him. Just being together made the day perfect--and when he saw her staring at somebody munching on one of those turkey legs, he figured he knew a way to make her smile.

"Lunch," he said.

Regina looked at him.

"You get your choice of gourmet treats, milady. A turkey leg. A hotdog--though you have to understand, they would not do them with the sophisticated-"

She laughed.

A good sign, because she had been very quiet for the last twenty or thirty minutes.

"Or fried chicken. A hamburger. Pretty much any non-PC, artery clogging goodie your heart desires."

"The roller coaster."

"Huh?"

"The one where we were a little while ago. The one called Boomerang coast whatever." Her eyes were shining. "Can we ride that?"

Robin hesitated. "You sure want to start with something like that? There are easier rides to-"

Regina bounced on her toes.

He sure as bloody hell could not say no now.

She loved riding that roller coaster.

She screamed and shrieked, and laughed with such joy that he forgot he had given up nonsense like amusement parks a long time ago and laughed along with her.

"Another one," she said when the ride ended.

They rode another coaster again.

And they rode everything else, or bloody damn near everything else, before Robin said, "Enough," took her in his arms for probably the hundredth time that day and kissed her and said it was time they took a break, ate something, drank something while he told himself he was being, yes, protective, but not the way her mother had been.

But he understood how she felt.

Someone as good and sweet as Regina deserved to be protected.

"Okay," she said. And laughed. "Actually, I just realized-I'm starving! I could eat a horse!"

They ate tacos. Fried chicken. One of those turkey legs.

"It's from a brontosaurus, not a turkey," Regina said, chomping on it.

Robin watched her eat, and tried not to smile. He grinned.

"I'm full."

"Amazing. You should be popping out of your jeans by now." He held out his hand. "Come on. Let's get some lemonade."

They found a stand, bought huge plastic glasses of lemonade and found a quiet spot on a bench beneath a tree.

"So," Robin said, "what your professional opinion of amusement parks, Dr. Mills?"

Her smile, so bright during the past hours, seemed to dim a little.

:I don't have a doctorate yet."

"But you will."

She shrugged her shoulders. "You never know."

"Well, true. Life's unpredictable. but-"

"I had a wonderful time today!"

He smiled, reached for her hand.

"Me, too."

"All those rides..." Her eyes shone. "What do you call them again, thrill rides?"

"Right."

"Well, they are definitely thrilling. But basically they're safe. I mean, the parks would not have them if they weren't right?"

"Right," he said again, and wondered where the conversation was going because, clearly, there was something in the wind.

"What I mean is," she said slowly, "there's no real risk."

Robin grinned. "Got it. Nope. No real risk, so it's safe to tell your folks-oh Regina. I'm sorry. I forgot."

"It's okay," she said softly. "That's the way life is. You're born, you die..."

She fell silent.

Robin thought he felt her hand tremble with his.

"Okay," he said briskly. "we're out of here. You have had enough sun and enough risk for the day."

"No. I mean, that's what I was saying. There really isn't any risk in taking these rides. It's wonderful," she added quickly. "I mean, I had more fun today..." she looked at him. "I never actually did anything risky."

Robin nodded. The conversation was on track again.

"But you have," she said. "Haven't you?"

"Well-"

"Did you ever go bungee jumping?"

"Yes. And its not all it's cracked up to-"

"Back country skiing. Scuba diving. Rock climbing. Swimming with sharks."

"Regina." His tone was harsh; he had not meant it to be. "Where are you going with this?"

"I want to try something risky."

A muscle knotted in his jaw.

"You already did. You got all dressed up, walked into a bar-"

Her face crumpled. She sprang to her feet.

He caught her by the wrist.

"I said it wrong, damn it. I did not mean it the way you think."

When she shook her head, he rose too. "What I'm saying is that anything might have happened to you that night, anything at all. And the thought of something happening to you, or someone hurting you..." Robin clasped her shoulders and turned her toward him. "Do you know how much you mean to me?" he said in a thick voice. "Do you have any idea how important you have become?"

She shook her head.

"You don't know me, we've only been together-"

"I know how long we've been together. But I know something else, as well." He looked deep into her eyes. "This-you and me-this isn't just a man and a woman, and sex-"

She shook her head and tried to turn away. He would not let her.

"I'm saying it wrong, for cripes sake. What I mean is-"

"I know what you mean. I-I feel it too." Tears glittered like stars in her eyes. "I never meant for this to happen," she whispered. "That I would find someone like you, that I would find happiness again-"

He kissed her.

Gently. Only when their lips met, as if touching her might shatter the moment.

And as he kissed her, he tasted the salt of her tears.

Something ran through him, an emotion so new, so rare it stunned him, and with it came a question.

"I-" he started to say.

"I know..." she replied.

Could everything  a man thought he wanted out of life completely shift in little more than a week?

Even asking the question was dangerous.

Robin put his hand on her hair, wiped away her tears, and put his arm around Regina. He held her to his side as they headed back to his car.

Dangerous, sure.

But as he had learned years ago, you could say that about anything that was really worth doing. Or having.

Life was all about risk.

What he had not known was, if a man was really lucky, he might just stumble across one special risk that had the power to change his life, forever.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people! I am so sorry for updating after 48 yeeeeeeeaaaaaars~ Like I have stated in my tumblr, things had been rough for me. I got promoted at work and buried myself in work and then when all is peachy and sunshines and rainbow, I found out my BF was cheating on me so I broke up with my BF for 7 years, which of course made me lose my mojo and I struggled and grieved but I had to stand up and move on :( But things are picking up, I have moved on and inspiration started again. If you still read this story, I thank you with all my heart coz it means so much. Here's to pt159 who still stayed with me for this story and asked me how I'm doing. I might have forgotten those who have read this before I really apologize for the lack of updates for months, but this is all for you. I'll try to update as much xoxo
> 
> No beta, all mistakes are mine.

Almost a month later, on a gray, rainy morning, that was all he could think about.  
  
Risks.  
The kind he'd always taken.  
Not the kind he was taking now.

He'd been a wild kid, the same as his cousins. But none of them had ever done anything cruel or stupid--and predictably00their streaks of wildness had eventually been channeled into positive stuff.

Arthur, flying helicopters and now running EL Lago as well as his own ranch.

David, taking the darker route into secret government service and now taking on law cases that drew headlines.

He, Robin, flying jets and then going into big-time finance.  
Risky things, all. But still, with an edge of predictability to them.

Not anymore.  
This wasn't predictable.  
What he felt for Regina.  
What he believed she felt for him.

It made what had existed between him and the girl who had written him that Dear John letter years ago, laughable.

She had never been a serious part of his life. They had come together as much because of his glamorous status as a fighter pilot as her flashy looks. He had never really looked ahead and envisioned her as part of his real life.

Regina was already in his life. She was not just his lover, she was his friend. Bloody hell, she was his roommate. Her toothbrush hung beside his. They were--it still amazed him--they were living together, and they had not been apart for more than a few hours of each day for the last three and a half weeks.

So, yes, this was a very different kind of risk.

It involved putting an entire way of lie, one that was free of restraint or rules or obligations to anyone but himself.

It involved, he thought, staring out of his office window on a rainy morning, something he had never imagined himself doing.

Living with a woman.

It wasn't that he'd never considered it. The thought had certainly crossed his mind before, not often, but there had been times it had, at the start of the relationship...

And, man, he had always hated the word--relationship--but that was what this was, a relationship.

He and Regina were living together.  
And he loved it.

Coming home to her each night, sleeping next to her. Starting the day with her each morning. Opening his eyes to her beautiful face.

Robin rose from his chair, tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and paced slowly around his office.

Talk about shocker...

Until now, living with a woman had never gone beyond casual speculation.

The simple truth was, the excitement of an affair ended. The fun wore away, the prospect of spending all his time with one woman pretty much 24/7 lost its appeal.

It had never been the fault of any of his lovers. It was just the way things were.

Man was not meant for monogamy. _He_ was not, at any rate...

He paused at the floor-to-ceiling, wall-of-glass window, and stared out at the gray San Francisco skyline.

Turned out, what he'd been meant was for Regina.

They went to sleep in each other's arms and woke that same way. They ate together. Talked about mundane stuff like where to have dinner, complicated stuff like global warming. They went out, stayed in, listened to music, did all the things couples did and bachelors didn't...

And he loved it.

Especially coming home to her at night, just seeing her smile, having her go into his arms, making love to her, it was more than enough to smooth whatever jagged edges the day might have left its wake.

Regina was living with him.

She had been, for almost a month.

The excitement? Still there. The fun? Of course. But there was more than that to it.

Being together was... He searched for the word.

It was joy. Like he was home and he find peace, the missing piece of the puzzle in his life.

The arrangement, for lack of a better word, had come without a plan.

It had started that Sunday when they had gone to Six Flags. They had gone for a drive afterward. Then, they had stopped for supper at a little Thai place he knew. The place was six tables big, with no pretensions at being anything but a Mom-and-Pop joint where the decor rated a zero but the food was Bangkok-perfect.

It turned out Thai food was new to Regina.

How could you get to through college and grad school without having Pad Thai or Thom Yum Goong was beyond him, but he remembered those overly-protective parents who had raised her to be cautious about everything, and he understood.

Sex. Roller coasters. Thai food.

He teased her, asked her if there was anything more he was going to introduce her to and she looked at him in a way that was suddenly completely serious.

Then, she had laughed and said if there were, she'd let him know.

If she were six decades older, he'd have said she was working on a bucket list.

She was not, of course.  
She was simply a woman learning about life.

He'd ordered for them both. _Tom Kha Gai._ Red Curry. _Pad Thai._

"Oh my," she said, after she tasted the soup.

"As in, 'Oh my God, this is good?' or, 'Oh my, I don't like this at all!"

"Are you kidding? It's amazing!"

She was what was amazing, he'd thought, watching her.

They ate from each other's plates and talked all through the meal, about England and Maine, nothing special, and when they left the restaurant, he had driven her to her apartment.

"I don't want to leave you," he had said, at her door.

"I don't want that, either," she had said softly. "Come in, just for awhile."

He'd taken a deep breath.

"I have a better idea," he'd said, no planning, no preparation, but as he'd said the words, he had known they were right. 

"Pack something for tomorrow. Come home with me."

She had hesitated, long enough so his heart had almost stopped beating.

"I can't." she had finally said.

"You can do anything that makes you happy," he had said softly. "Unless being with me won't make you happy."

Silence.

Then she'd gone up on her toes and kissed him.

She had packed a summer skirt. A t-shirt. Sandals. Underwear. Makeup, shampoo, what he thought of as girl stuff, though he knew better than actually to call it that.

Finally, she'd put her laptop computer in its case, added a couple of books, and a stack of printed notes.

"Ready," she'd said, and again, without planning or analyzing it, she had heard himself suggest she add a few more things to what she had packed.

"You know just in case, you, ah, decided to stay a few days..."

It had been one of those time-stands-still moments, he silent, she staring at him through her wide brown eyes.

Then, with a untypical directness, at least when it came to women, she had said, "Yes."

She had not gone back to her place since that night, except when he'd driven her there so she could pick up more of her things.

He had tried to take her shopping. But she wouldn't let him.

She was independent, his Regina, so he compensated by buying her gifts, then telling her, eyes wide with innocence, that whatever he had bought was on sale and could not be returned.

He'd done it again last night, handed her a gift-wrapped small box at dinner in Thai place that had become a favorite.

She'd opened the box, gasped at the gold bracelet and heart inside, and looked at him with shining eyes.

"Robin. I can't-"

"You have to," he had said. "It's that bloody no-returns policy."

Her lips had curved in a smile.

"I love it," she had said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he'd said, and without warning, he'd suddenly imagined her opening an even smaller box, one that held a diamond solitaire.

Their food had arrived at that moment, and they had spent the rest of the meal talking.

Actually, he had done most of the talking.

He had found himself telling her about the ten thousand acres of land for sale back in England near his childhood home, about how he was considering buying it.

"I love what I do," he'd said, "and I'll always go on doing it, but I think ranching is in my blood."

"Must be the Gaelic DNA," she had said solemnly but with a little smile in her eyes, and he'd laughed and then, without planning to, he'd heard himself ask, very casually, how she felt about open spaces, about horses, and dogs and kids, which were pretty much the staples of ranch life.

And he realized, he was holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

"I used to watch John Wayne movies," she'd finally said, in a small voice. "My father had owned each film. And-and I used to think how wonderful it must be, to saddle a horse and ride and ride and ride without ever reaching the boundaries of your own land, and then to ride home to a house full of love and laughter, to the arms of a man you adored..."

Her voice had trembled. She met Daniel because she wanted to have horse back riding lessons. Her mother, disproved of it because it was unladylike. It was that summer where she fell in love, she was just 14 and life had been so carefree - Daniel worked part time at the ranch she had lessons on, they stole kisses from each other while she taught him how to ride a horse and it was a summer she will never forget. She stopped taking the lessons because of her mother, but she did not stop meeting Daniel. They dreamed of a life together, will go to college together and live a simple life in the country side... until he met an accident after they graduated high school...her eyes had darkened. He had reached for her hand.

He'd come within a heartbeat of saying that she could, if she married him, but a crowded restaurant was not where a man wanted to tell a woman he loved her.

Besides, the look on her face troubled him.  
Something was wrong.  
Regina had definitely a secret, and it was not a good one.

He'd sensed it before, several times, but he had never pushed her to reveal it because, back then, he had still believed in separation. In independence. In being responsible for oneself and nobody else.

Not anymore.

She had a secret that made her unhappy and, by God, it was time he knew what it was so he could deal with it.

Had she been in jail? Was she on the run for a crime? Was somebody after her?

Impossible things, all of them, but there was a darkness haunting her, and she had yet to share it with him.

Didn't she realize that whatever it was, he would deal with it? He will accept whatever it was in her past. He will accept all her flaws and mistakes, whatever darkness she went through.

Did she know that he would go on loving her?

Because he did love her. He adored her.  
And she loved him, too.

He could see it in her smile that reached into her deep brown eyes. In the way she curled into his arms at night and responded to his kisses in the morning and at night. It was even in the way she said his name while she come apart when they made love, how she sighed in contentment when sleep claims them.

It was time to say the words.

Tonight, he was going to tell her that he loved her. And after she'd told him she loved him, too, he would ask her what was causing her such anguish.

Her headaches, as painful as they were, never brought such sadness to her eyes, but her headaches seemed more frequent.

"Have you taken your medicine?" he'd say, and she'd say yes, she had, and then she'd change the subject.

Except, last night, a muffled sound awakened him.

The place on the bed beside him was empty.

He'd risen quickly, gone into the bathroom, found her huddled on the closed toilet, trembling, her face white, teeth chattering.

Terror had torn at his gut.

"My love," he'd said, going down on his knees before her. "What is it?" No answer. He'd reached forward and swept her tangled hair back from her face.

"Is it a headache?"

"Yes," she'd whispered.

"Did you take a pill?"

Another yes.

He'd risen to his feet.

"I'm calling my doctor," he'd said and she grabbed his arm and gasped out, "No! I don't need a doctor!"

Like bloody hell, she didn't.

But he had not wanted to upset her, so he had scooped her into his arms, carried her to the bed, brought her a cold pack--he'd started keeping them in the freezer--and held her in his arms until she had fallen asleep.

Bollocks, he thought now, as he sat down behind his desk again.

He'd been so caught up in thinking how much he loved her, how he was going to tell her so, tonight, that he had lost sight of what he should have done first thing in the morning.

She didn't want to see his doctor? Okay. He couldn't force her to do it, but a physician was an old pal. He and Viktor had gone to the same high school, played on the same football team. They had gone to the same University, taken some of the undergrad courses before Viktor also ventured in America to go to medical school and he set his sights on aerospace engineering...

He'd go see Viktor, tell him about Regina, tell him the name of the meds she was taking and find out if there was something a lot stronger and better.

No way he could go on watching the women he loved suffer...

The woman he loved. 

It felt so good to know that he loved her. To know he was going to tell her he loved her--

His cell phone rang.

He grabbed it, didn't take time to check the screen on who is calling.

"Hey, love?"

"Sweetie," his cousin Arthur purred. "I didn't know you cared."

Robin sat back up.

"Arthur. What's up?"

"From hot to cold in less than a minute. Robin, me pal, you're breaking my heart."

Robin laughed.

"Okay. Let's start again. Hey, Artie, great to hear from you. How are things going?"

"Tonight's what's going," Arthur said. "I thought the three of us could get together at that place near David's office."

"Yeah. Well, sorry but-"

"Robbie. You were the one accusing us of ditching the Friday night stuff but we got together last week and the week before and you were the bloke who was missing."

True. Very true. Robin rubbed his hand over his forehead.

"The thing is, I, ah-I have something going on..."

"Does it involve your beloved?"

Arthur's tone barely masked his laughter--and his curiosity.

Robin took a deep breath. What in the bloody hell, he decided. Maybe it was time.

"Tell you what. I'll meet you boys there. I won't stay long, I..." Deep, deep breath. "I have to get home. To Regina."

"To who?"

"Her name is Regina," Robin said quietly. "And I guess its time you guys knew about her."

Arthur finally located his tongue, hanging somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

"Sounds mighty fine," he said.

Then he hung up the phone, called David and said, "You are never going to believe this, but it looks like Robin is hooked."

"Hooked?"

"As in, he's coming by tonight."

"So?"

"He won't stay long. He has a woman waiting for him. At home."

There was a moment of silence. Then, David laughed.

"Uh-oh," he said.

Arthur grinned. "Ain't that the bloody truth?"

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Robin paced the living room of his pent-house.

He'd gone home early. Stupid thing to do.

Today was Regina's late day at the University. She would not be home for another half hour, which was more than enough time for him to have second-guessed himself a hundred times.

Telling Arthur he'd meet him and David tonight. What for? He was going to tell Regina he loved her. He would not want to leave her after that.

Okay. Okay, no problem. Everything will be peachy.

He'd take her with him. Introduce her to his best friend, his cousin, more like this brothers.

No. Forget that. He would tell her he loves her. Then she'd tell him what it was that, when he least expected it, stole the joy from her smile.

Robin ran his hands through his dark blond hair.

Dumb thing to do, piling on so many heavy things for one eve--

The elevator hummed. Made the soft thump it always made when it stopped.

He swung toward it.

The doors opened.

Regina stepped from the car.

"Hello, love." he said...

And stopped.

God, the look on her face! It was one of such sorrow that he forgot everything, ran to her, took her in his arms and drew her into the room.

"Regina? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She was lying. He could see it. He could feel it, too. He always knew her, always read her, but he can't seem to know exactly what causes her this much pain, or was he just being too blind? She was trembling.

He scooped her up. Carried her to the big leather chair. Sat down with her held tightly in his arms.

"Regina. Please don't lock me out. I know there's something you are keeping from me--"

"I love you," she said. "I know I'm not supposed to tell you that but--"

He could have sworn he felt his heart take wing.

"Regina. My beloved Regina. I love you, too."

"See, I've studied the dynamics of--of--" For an instant, her eyes lit with happiness. "What did you say?"

"I said I adore you, I love you. I want to marry you. I want us to have kids, raise horses, ride horses in the fields, travel the world, do whatever makes you happy as we grow old together..."

A sob burst from her throat.

"No! I can't."

"Regina--"

She shot to her feet.

"I can't marry you," she whispered.

"Of course you can. I thought you love me."

She shook her head. "No. You don't understand. There's something I--something I haven't told you. I should have. I know I should have, but-"

Robin stood and gathered her into his arms.

"Whatever it is," he said softly, "we'll deal with it. We're here now and this is true..." he said, kissing her forehead as he gently held her face and gently tucked some hair in her ear.

She made a little sound, something between a laugh and a sob.

"We can't deal with it."

"Of course we can. _I_ can. Is it a legal problem? David can help us. Is it something in your past? Whatever it is, I accept you, the whole you, your past, everything in your past, good or bad..."

"I'm sick."

"I know. The migraines. We'll take care of those, too. My doctor--"

"Robin." Regina took a deep breath. Robin tried to draw her closer to him, but she kept a distance between them by flattening her hands against his chest. "I--I have, I have..."

She shut her eyes, then opened them again, and looked into the eyes of her lover. "I have a tumor," she whispered. "In my brain."

He stared at her while he tried to process her words.

"A tumor? But--"

"In my brain. And there is no 'but'. It's been there for months, and it's been growing." She drew a shallow, sharp breath. "My symptoms--"

"The headaches," he said hoarsely.

She nodded.

"Robin. I'm--I'm dying."

The room tilted. He thought he was going to pass out but he could not. He had to be strong for Regina.

Besides, it could not be true. He told her that she must have been misdiagnosed.

She got her brief case. She had a file in it. Reports, scan results.

The diagnosis was accurate.

He told her how foolish it was to rely on tests from one hospital.

She spread the reports over the dining room table.

The tests had been repeated in three different major medical centers.

He stared at the papers. An icy hand seemed to close around his heart.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I should have. I should have let you know the truth so that you wouldn't--you wouldn't become involved with-"

He grabbed her. Silenced her with a kiss that tasted of terror and panic and desperation.

"I love you," he said. "I love you! Do you think knowing this--this thing is inside your head would have kept me from loving you?"

She wept.

He wanted to weep with her, but his brain was whirring. He needed a plan.

Minutes later, he had one.

"I know people in Germany. In the U.K., bloody hell, I know people all over the world. We'll fly to Europe--"

"Robin. My beloved Robin." Her voice broke as she looked up into his sapphire eyes, wet with unshed tears. "It's all over. I've just come from my doctor. He says--"

Robin slammed his fist against the table.

"I don't give a bloody fuck what your Doctor says! I'm not going to let this happen. I refuse to let it happen. I love you, I love you, so much-"

She rose on her toes. Kissed him. Kissed him again and again until he responded.

"Make love to me," she pleaded. "Now. Make love to me, Robin--"

He took her there, in the living room, with passion, with tenderness, giving her all that he was.

She gave him all that she was in the return.

At the end, she cried. And fell asleep in his arms.

He held her tightly to him, she felt the beating of her heart, the warmth of her breath.

"I will not let you die," he said, his voice low and hard and fierce with determination. "I.Will.Not.Let.It.Happen."

Finally, exhausted, he slept...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Thank you so much for staying with me and continuing to read this :) It means so much! :D Thanks again for reading and all your lovely comments! Again, no beta, all mistakes are mine.

Robin dreamed.

Regina was standing next to him. Leaning over him.

She was weeping.

"Goodbye, my love," she whispered, "goodbye"

Her lips brushed his forehead.

He stirred. Came awake...

And found himself alone.

"Regina?" he said.

He went from room to room. There was no sign of her.

Panic beat leathery wings in his chest.

He called her on her cell phone.

She didn't answer.

He ran for his car. Drove her to her apartment.

She wasn't there.

He checked her office on campus.

Nothing.

God, dear God, where was she?

He went back to his place, driving like a madman in case she'd somehow materialized somewhere in those empty rooms, but she had not.

Where could she have gone? Who would possibly know? That woman at the bar that night? He doesn't even remember the name of her friend.

"Think," he said aloud, "think!"

There had to be someone who'd know what she would do, where she would go...

Her doctor.

He would know.

But who was he? Where was his office? Bloody hell, why didn't he have that information?

Maybe she had an address book. An appointment calendar. If she did, maybe the doctor's name and address would be in it.

Robin went through Regina's things. Tore her stuff apart. Found no address book or appointment book or anything else.

Wait a minute. Would the medicines she took have the doctor's name on the bottles?

He knew where she kept the tablets. Some were in a little silver pill box she carried in her purse. The rest were in his medicine cabinet.

Yes. There they were, but the only thing on the labels were unpronounceable names of the meds, and the name and phone number of the pharmacy that had filled her prescriptions.

There were a frightening number of prescriptions.

He phoned the pharmacy. Spoke his way up the chain of command but nobody would tell him the doctor's name or anything beyond the fact that the law protected a patient's privacy.

There had to be a way...

Robin pumped his fist in the air.

There was. His pal. Viktor Whale. Surely he could get the name of Regina's guy out of the pharmacy stuff.

He thought about phoning, decided against it, got in his car and raced to Viktor's office, caught him just as he was leaving.

"Viktor. I have to see you."

"Robin? Are you sick?"

"No. My friend is sick. My friend..." Robin swallowed hard. "The woman I love gets these terrible headaches..."

"Ah." Viktor smiled. "Well, tell her to phone my office and--"

"You don't understand."

Viktor looked at him. "Man," he said quietly. "you look like bloody hell." He hesitated. "Okay. Come into my office and fill me in."

Robin did.

When he finished, Viktor's expression was grave.

"Did she say what kind of tumor it is?"

Robin shook his head.

"All she'd tell me was that she was--that she was--"

Viktor nodded. "Yeah. Okay. You need to find her but I don't see what I--"

"If I find her doctor, maybe he can tell me where she's gone." Robin reached in his pocket, took out a vial of tablets, handed them to his friend. "I called her pharmacy. They won't give me the doctor's name. But they'll give it to you."

Viktor nodded again. He thought about ethics, and patient confidentiality, and the fact that a woman named Regina Mills had made it clear she didn't want the man who loved her to be with her as she died.

Mostly, though, he thought about the fear, the desperation in the eyes of an old friend.

Then he reached for the phone.

* * *

In the end, finding Regina's doctor did not help.

Archie Hopper didn't know where she'd gone either.

"I would not break patient confidentiality if I actually knew," he said, "but I'd at least tell you she was safe."

But she wasn't safe.

His Regina was desperate and alone, probably in excruciating pain, with a death sentence hanging over her.

Hours later, an exhausted Robin finally stumbled into the bar where he was supposed to have paid a pleasant visit to his cousin and friend.

They saw him come through the door, signaled him to their booth... and turned grim-faced when they got a closer look at him. His face was gray, his hair was standing up in little tufts.

He looked liked he'd aged a dozen years.

"What's happened?" David asked sharply.

Robin looked at him.

"Are you sick?"

"No. I'm not sick. It's my Regina who is sick.:

David and Arthur exchanged looks. _His Regina._

"She's missing." Robin sank into the booth. "I've been looking for her for hours but I can't find her."

David and Arthur exchanged another look.

_A lover's quarrel? Something more serious._

"Listen," David said slowly, "if she doesn't want to see you--"

"She's gone, David. She's vanished."

"What do you mean vanished?"

"Vanished," Robin said wearily. He put his elbows on the table, rubbed his hand over his eyes. "I can't find her anywhere."

David's jaw tightened. "I have contacts," he said. "The police. Some private guys I'd trust with my--"

"You don't understand."

"No," David said gently, "we don't. How about explaining?"

Robin grabbed the beer bottle that stood in front of Arthur. He took a long, thirsty swallow. Then he put it down, looked from the concerned face of his cousin and best friend, and did exactly that.

It took ten long minutes.

When he'd finished, the two guys were silent. It was the kind of silence that means nobody can think of anything useful to say.

Finally, Arthur cleared his throat.

"Telling you we're sorry won't cut it."

David nodded in agreement. "What we need to do is to do something that will help you. And your girl."

"Regina," Robin said. "Her name is Regina."

"Regina of course," David rubbed his forehead. "I need her full name. Her cell phone number. Her address. The department she's in at the university."

Robin shook his head.

"I told you," he said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion, "she's turned her cell phone off. She isn't at her apartment. I checked her office on the campus, she already resigned a week ago. She's gone."

"I understand." David said carefully. "Still, give me the info. Everything you know about her. Places she likes. People she knows. Where she's from."

"Yes. Okay."Robin gave a sharp, sad laugh. "It's something to do anyway."

David took a small notebook and pen from his pocket, shoved them both toward Robin.

"I want the name of her doctor. His phone numbers. And Viktor's number. I haven't spoken to him in years."

Robin nodded as he jotted down the things David had requested.

"Rob?"

Robin looked at Arthur.

"When I was hospitalized in D.C., you know, after I was wounded...I got to know some of the other patients. One was this Special Forces guy. He had a--he had a brain tumor."

"Regina's is inoperable. The tests--"

"Yes. So was his." Arthur paused. "But there was this neurosurgeon...His family brought him in as a consultant. The next week, they moved the Special Forces bloke out of Walter Reed. I don't know where they took him, but a couple of months later, there he was, stopping by for a visit, and he looked like a new man."

"Arthur. What's this have to do with--"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I have the guy's number. Why don't I give him a call?"

"Viktor says the neurologist treating Regina is the best in San Fran."

"I'm going to give my friend a call anyway, okay?"

Robin nodded. "Sure," he said, but his eyes were dull with discouragement.

Another silence. Then David slapped the table top and rose to his feet.

"Okay. Let's get started."

Arthur rose too. So did Robin. He looked from his cousin to his brother.

"I feel so useless..." His voice broke. "There must be something I can do."

"There is," Arthur said briskly. "Go home. Eat something. Get some sleep. You need to stay strong, for Regina. And stay put, just in case she comes looking for you."

"Bloody hell. You're right. I never thought of..." He took a long breath, then exhaled it. "Call me. Both of you. Even if it's only to tell me you haven't come up with anything, okay? Just--just keep in touch."

They gave Robin an embrace.

"Don't give up hope," David said softly.

"David's right," Arthur said. "This is a long way from over."

"Yeah," Robin said, but they all knew he was lying.

* * *

It took David less than two hours to find Regina through his network of contacts. He phone Arthur with the news as he drove to Robin's condo.

"She's on a flight to Boston, where she'll change planes for Portland, Maine."

"Excellent," Arthur replied. "That will put her within spitting distance of Boston Memorial."

"What's Boston Memorial?"

"A major hospital--and the place where that Special Forces bloke tells me the world's most prominent neurosurgeon is running a hush-hush experimental program."

"Why do those words scare the crap out of me? Hush-hush. Experimental." David, who was driving far too fast, swerved around a truck. "Even that phrase, 'the world's most prominent neurosurgeon...' according to who?"

"According to whom," Arthur said, automatically correcting his friend's grammar which was, David know, a really good sign that Arthur was feeling upbeat, even hopeful. "According to my guy, and I believe him."

"Okay. But it's so secretive, if it's experimental, how do we get Regina into the program? There's no time to waste, Arthur. We all know that."

"She's already in." Arthur said. "My guy called the Boston Neurosurgeon, faxed him her medical file. He phoned me." Arthur gave a little laugh. "Turns out, there are times it pays to be a wounded warrior with a shiny medal."

David nodded, as if Arthur could see him. He knew how his friend hated to talk about what had happened to him during the war, hoe he shunned all the publicity about the medal he'd won. That he'd shared such a thing with a stranger, used it for leverage, was filled with meaning.

"Good job, mate," he said softly.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Hey, its for Robin,, right? And there are no guarantees."

"You mean," David said, "anything could happen."

"I mean,"Arthur said bluntly, "that first the surgeon has to check Regina out and agree to do the operation. And even then--"

"Right." David hesitated. "Robin will have to know that."

"He'll know it. And he'll go for it. Bloody hell, mate, it's all we've got."

"Sure. But will she?"

"Good question." Arthur said. "Only one way to find out."

"I'm on my way to Robin's place right now," David said.

"Me too. Meet you there in ten."

"In five."

Arthur made a sound that approximated a laugh.

Maybe, just maybe, things were looking up...

* * *

They arrived at Robin's condo less than a minute apart.

They had told him to shower. Eat. Rest. The only certainty was that he'd showered: his hair was still wet, and he'd changed his clothes.

Aside from that, he looked like a man who'd been pacing the floor and slowly going crazy.

The way he greeted them confirmed it.

"I cannot go on doing this," he said. "Just standing around here, my thumb up my--"

"Calm down."

"Calm down?" He spun toward Arthur, eyes blazing. "The woman I love is out there alone, a--a monster consuming her brain and the best you can do is tell me to--"

"I have one of our jets standing by."

Robin blinked. He looked at David.

"You found her? How? Where? Is she okay? Did she ask for me?"

"One question at a time, Rob. I pulled some strings. Called in some favors. She's okay, she's on a plane heading for Boston, and she couldn't ask for you because she doesn't know we found her."

"Boston," Robin said. "She's going home. To Maine." His face twisted. "Doesn't she know I want to be with her."

Arthur and David glanced at each other in unspoken agreement that there was no sense in trying to answer that question.

Obviously, Robin knew it, too.

"Okay," he said. "let's go after her. She's from Maine. How will she get there?" Has she rented a car?"

"She's changing planes in Boston. Actually she has two changes--"

"Which gives us tome to get to Boston before she does."

"David and Arthur looked at each other.

Robin's voice was stronger. He was taking command. It gave them hope he'd come through this, no matter how it ended.

"I love her," he said his voice filled with certainty. "I won't let her face this alone."

"Yes." David laid a hand on Robin's shoulder. "There's something else."

"What?"

Arthur cleared his throat.

"It's a long story," he said, "but it turns out there's an experimental program. A surgery to treat--what the bloody hell do you call these things? Inoperable meningiomas."

"An oxymoron," Robin said angrily. "If the thing is inoperable, there can't be surgery for it."

"I'm not the doctor, okay? Maybe I'm saying it wrong but the bloke I knew at Walter Reed...I told you, it's a long story. The bottom line is that there's a surgeon--a team--doing this stuff."

The hope that suddenly glowed in Robin's eyes made both of them want to take him in their arms.

They didn't.

They knew Robin had to stay focused. And strong.

"First, they would have to agree Regina qualifies for the operation. And then," Arthur said with brutal frankness, "if it doesn't always work. Some patients due during the procedure. Some never come out of the anesthesia and end up on life support. Some survive but they're--they're damaged."

Robin gave a bitter laugh. "That's your good news?"

"What I said was, it doesn't always work. But when it does..." Arthur drew a breath. "When it does, those patients resume normal lives."

"Oh God," Robin whispered. "Oh God, Regina..."

"Don't get your hopes too high," David said bluntly. "This is one huge risk. Regina will have to understand that."

"You don't know her. Regina never met a risk she wouldn't take." He glanced at his watch. "Why are we still standing here? We're wasting time."

Arthur and David nodded. They could hear the courage, the energy in his voice.

"Go on," Arthur said. "Pack while we get things going. Then we'll get the bloody hell out of here."

Robin nodded, headed for his bedroom.

Arthur and David would buy what they needed in Boston. Both men phoned their wives, offered quick explanations of what was going down.

"Tell Robin I love him," Gennie, Arthur's wife said.

"Tell Robin we're all with him," Mary Margaret, David's wife said.

Two minutes later, they were on their way to the airport...

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello dearests! Again, thank you for all your feedback :) I was happy with the 100th eppie with all the Regina/Evil Queen goodness and all the Sean and Lana interviews + pics but alas the Robin rumors keep eating me up like a worm inside. Sigh, but yes, I am focusing on thinking happy thoughts. Feedback will all be welcome! And again, no beta so all mistakes are mine.

They reached Boston an hour before Regina's plane was due, and stood at the gate, waiting.

Robin had never imagined time could move so slowly.

Whenever he looked at his watch, the hands were in the same place on the dial.

After the fifth or sixth time, he figured it was broken—except, David's watch read the same as his.

David said, "How about coffee?"

Arthur said, "How about a sandwich?"

Robin shook his head. All he wanted, all he needed, was to see Regina.

They waited, and waited.

At last, a plane taxied to the gate. A disembodied voice announced the arrival of the flight Regina had taken.

The ramp door opened.

The first of the disembarking passengers appeared. Most of them hurried into the terminal.

After that, nothing.

Robin's heart was racing.

Where was she? Was David's information wrong?

His breath caught.

There she was.

Walking slowly, her face pale, her eyes huge. He could almost feel the pain throbbing in her head.

He wanted to run to her, sweep her into his arms...

She saw him, and froze.

He had not let himself think about this. About how would she react on seeing him. She had left him, after all.

"Regina," he said, and opened his arms.

She sobbed his name, and flew into them.

He held her into his head. Kissed the top of her head, rocked her in his embrace. She lifted her face to his and he kissed her, kissed her again and again.

She was weeping. He shed some tears too.

Behind them, David and Arthur looked at each other, then turned away.

Their eyes were damp.

It was turning into on bloody hell of a day.

* * *

 

Arthur had taken a suite at a hotel in Boston.

David had arranged for a limo.

They drove to the hotel in silence after a brief conversation, Robin introducing them, "Sweetheart, this is David, my best friend and Arthur my cousin, my brothers from another mother," Regina saying, "Hi," both men saying  _ Hi  _ in return.

Then she had looked at Robin and asked him why they were with him, how had he found her and where were they going?

Robin had considered everything he had to tell her.

Yes, but not here.

Instead, he'd drawn her closer to him—he had not let go of her since she had gone into his arms, kissed her temple and said, "Will you trust me, love?"

Regina knew there was only one possible answer, and she'd given it.

"Yes," she whispered, because what else could she tell the man she had already trusted with her heart?

The suite was spacious. A sitting room. Three bedrooms. Three bathrooms,

David and Arthur vanished into two of the bedrooms.

Robin led Regina into the third.

She was wobbling. Her eyes glittered. He knew it was with pain.

He sat her down on the edge of the bed, knelt before her and slipped off her shoes.

"Do you want to sleep for a while, love?" he said softly. She shook her head, winced, when she did.

"No. I want you to tell me what is going on. Why are they with you? And why are all of you behaving like you have a big secret?"

He sat down next to her and clasped her hand.

"I refuse to let you die," he said in a low, fierce voice.

"Robin. I know you want to deny the truth. For a long time, so did I—"

He silenced her with a tender kiss.

"Listen to me for just a minute. Will you do that?"

Regina sighed. "Okay," she said in a soft voice, "but—"

"I tried to find you," he said. "When I couldn't, I turned to them for help. David located you." He smiled. "Sometimes, it's useful to have a former spy as a best friend. Arthur did other things."

Her brown eyes searched his. "What other things?"

"Remember I told you he had been wounded in Afghanistan. Badly wounded. He was hospitalized at Walter Reed, and while he was there, he met somebody, another soldier who—who had a tumor. Inoperable, like yours. At least, they said it was inoperable."

Regina tore her hand from his and got to her feet.

"No," she said. "No more! I have tried a dozen cures. Nothing worked." Her voice broke. "I can't do it again, Robin. Believing there's, there's some kind of—of a medical miracle, only to find out that—that..."

Robin rose and stood before her.

"Arthur's friend was accepted into an experimental program right here at Boston Memorial."

Regina turned away, and clapped her hands over her ears.

"I'm not listening."

"Regina. Please. Hear me out."

"I've done it all. Tests. Shots. Drugs and more drugs. I've seen a thousand doctors. All of it led to one thing." She swung toward him, her lips trembling. "I'm dying, Robin. It's why I did all those—those crazy things. Why I wanted to experience as much of life as I could. I knew, sooner or later, I would have to accept what was coming."

"Regina—"

"And I did. I accepted it. Until I fell in love with you."

She had said the only words he had ever wanted to hear.

"Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever did." Her eyes searched his for understanding. "I love you so much—"

"Then why did you run away from me?"

"Because I love you! Because I didn't want you to be there to see—to see what's going to happen to me. Because I didn't want you to look back years from now and—and remember me broken and lost and drained of life..."

Robin pulled her into his arms and kissed her, ever so softly and tenderly.

His voice when he spoke, came out as hard. "What gives you the right to make those decisions for me?" he said gruffly. "I love you too, bloody hell I do. I adore you. I want to be with you whatever happens, I will be with you whatever happens."

"Even to see me die?"

"Even that," he said, his voice breaking. "But you won't. I'm trying to tell you about this surgery—"

"No."

"Regina. Don't say 'no' until you hear me out."

"How about you hearing me out?" She stood straight within his embrace, her eyes locked into his. "I have done everything they have told me to do, everything said they would work. Nothing did. Nothing will. And—and I can't go through it again. The hope. The desperate, awful hope and then the letdown." She took a breath. "It's over. I'm dying and there's no way to stop it—unless you believe in miracles and I have to tell you, I don't."

Robin framed her face with his hands. Turned a few strands of hair that fell on her face and tucked it behind her ear.

"What I believe in," he said, "is you. Your strength. Your courage. Your determination. Your resilience. Add in some brill science, a surgeon who has found a way to save lives. Would you walk away from that?"

"It's useless, don't you see? Useless!"

"I thought you were the woman who believed in taking risks."

Tears were flowing down Regina's face.

"You're not fighting fair."

"No. I'm not. Why would I, when it comes with wanting you with me forever?"

"You're merciless," she said, but her eyes, her voice, said otherwise.

Robin forced a smile.

"That's me. The merciless Robin Locksley. A man who won’t give up his woman without a fight." He stroked his hand down her back. "I'll be there. With you. I will be at  your side the whole time. You will never be alone again, I will stay with you until the end. My love, my heart, my soul, all that I am will be with you."

Regina bit her lip.

"Suppose—suppose I said yes." Do you know the odds of me coming through something experimental?"

"When we meet the surgeon, he will tell us."

"And—and if I didn't come through, if I didn't survive, I wouldn't know the difference. But you would. I know you Robin. You'd eat yourself alive for having had even the smallest part in this."

"I will eat myself alive if I just let you leave me and let you go on your own." His blue eyes darkened. "Fight for your life, love. I'll fight for it with you. The doctors will do their part. We’ll do ours. Just don’t give up hope. I need you to be the woman who will be bold and audacious, because that’s what you are.” 

Regina didn’t answer. He wondered if she’d really heard him, if she understood how much he adored her and how much he couldn’t bear another second without her. 

At long last, she laid her head against her shoulder. 

“All right,” she said quietly. “I will meet with the surgeon.”

Robin started to speak. She put her hand over his lips.

“I’ll talk to him, but I can’t promise more than that.”

“Okay. That’s good. It’s fine. We’ll talk to him.”

“We?”

“Yes. Because we’re one unit, love. I’m with you. You’re me. Unless, of course you don’t want me to—”

“Take me to bed,” she said softly.

“Love. You’re so pale. And I know your head hurts.” 

“Take me bed,” she said again. “Just hold me.” Her voice trembled. “I want to feel more than this pain in my head.”

He took her to bed. And held her.

And when she turned toward him, kissed him, stroked him to life, he made tender love to her. 

She fell asleep.

Then he rose, dressed, went quietly into the sitting room where his best friend and cousin await.

“Make the appointment,” he said. “To meet the doctor.”

Arthur smiled. “Already done. Tomorrow morning at 8 am.” He went to Robin and held out his hand. “She’s on bloody hell of a woman,” he said, and Robin, not trusting himself to speak, nodded as he shook Arthur’s hand, then David’s. 

They were right.

His Regina is one bloody hell of a woman. 

* * *

 

And if he need proof, which he surely didn’t, he got it the next morning when he and Regina met with the surgeon. 

She answered dozens of questions clearly and calmly.

Underwent endless tests, some of which looked like they’d been dreamed up by aliens.

At noon, the surgeon met with them again. 

“Okay,” he said briskly, “as far as we’re concerned, it’s a go.”

Robin squeezed Regina’s hand.

“The odds on my making it through the operation: she said.

“Fifty-fifty.”

Robin winced but Regina nodded.

“No sense in anything else, Miss Mills. It’s important you know as much of the truth as I know.”

“And what about coming through but—but being a vegetable? What are the odds on that?” 

“Sweetheart,” Robin said.

Regina shushed him.

“I need to know,” she said. “Because I think I’m even more afraid of that than I am of dying. Doctor? What odds will you give me?”

“Better ones. Better in your favor.” The doctor smiled; then his smile faded. “But it’s always a possibility.”

Silence.

Regina’s face revealed nothing.

Robin, who had pushed her to get this far, hated himself for it. A fifty-fifty chance she would die. A slightly lower chance she’d survive with a brain damage. 

“No,” he heard himself say. “No, love you can’t.”

Regina reached for his hand.

“When is the soonest we can do this?” She said. “Because now that I’ve decided to do it, I really don’t want to sit around and wait.”

“Actually,” the doctor said gently, “we can’t really afford to wait. How does tomorrow morning at 6 am sound, Regina?”

Robin felt like a man standing at the edge of an abyss.

“Wait. We need to—to talk. Do some research—”

Regina looked at him. “I want to do this,” she said calmly. “And I need you to be strong for me.”

She was right. They both had to be strong for each other. And, suddenly, he knew exactly how they would get that strength. 

“Marry me,” he said.

Regina’s smile trembled. “If I can, when this is over—”

“Not then, not soon. Marry me now. Tonight.”

“No. No! What if—”

“I love you.” Robin said. “I’ll always love you.” He took her in his arms. “When you go into that operating room tomorrow, you’re going in there as my wife.” 

Regina cried. She laughed. She kissed the man she loved. 

“Do I get a say in this, Mr. Locksley?”

“No. You don’t.” His eyes took on a suspicious glitter. “Get on the roller coaster, love,” he whispered. “Take this ride with me.” 

She kissed him.

And she said, “Yes.”


End file.
